Hollow Earth
by beamirang
Summary: Xenopolycythemia, reboot style. Jim, Bones & Spock h/c.
1. Chapter 1

Hi guys! Just a heads up… this one is ANGSTY. Like, seriously. It deals with the dreaded xenopolycythemia and how that storyline might work in reboot land, which means there will be frequent mention to terminal illnesses and how they effect people in different ways. It's a fairly upsetting subject so please keep that in mind before reading.

It's complete, and ten parts long, so strap in for excessive h/c. This part lifts heavily from the episode _For the world is hollow and I have touched the sky_ but will veer off fairly quickly.

* * *

"Ow!"

"Stop being a baby!"

"Stop being so mean! I swear you actually enjoy this!"

"Yes, Jim, I enjoy your excessive whining so much that I go out of my way to schedule an appointment just so I can get my daily dosage." The hypo hit Jim firmly in the side of his neck, delivering a dose of vitamins and electrolytes. "You're dehydrated. Didn't we talk about that?"

Jim glared over his shoulder at the irritated doctor. "Actually we did. Remind me why I'm here again."

"I have to complete the ship's biannual physicals. Something your Yeoman was kind enough to remind me of only this morning." McCoy said, finally stepping back and allowing Jim to pull his shirt back on.

"She's efficient." Jim agreed.

"She's terrifying." McCoy shuddered, abnormally afraid of Janice Rand, Jim's shadow on the ship and the single reason his reports were filed on time. "Mark my words Jim, one of these days she'd going to smother you in your sleep and take over, and you can bet things would run a whole lot smoother."

Jim grinned. "Nah, that would be too much paperwork even for her. Spock on the other hand…" He bounded off the edge of the bed. "So can I go, Doctor McCoy?"

"The sooner the better." McCoy grumbled. "As soon as I get your file up-to-date I can do my last assessment and finally get five minutes to catch my breath."

"Hey, you mean to tell me there is someone on this ship who managed to avoid you longer than I did?" Jim felt slightly affronted that his reputation might be tarnished somehow.

McCoy swatted at him absently and shoved him towards the door. "It's mine, you ingrate. Now scram. Go make sure we aren't about to fly into an asteroid or something."

"For the last time, Bones. We're not going to fly into an asteroid." Jim said patiently. They'd had the same conversation dozens of times, if not more, over the course of their friendship. McCoy snorted in disbelief. "So once you're done with all your doctorly like duties, you gonna have dinner with me and Spock?"

"Why the hell would I want to do that?" McCoy grumbled. "Listen two you to bicker all night…"

"Spock and _I_ bicker? Right. Sure. That's a yes then?" Jim said hopefully. An evening with Jim to moan at and Spock to argue with was exactly what McCoy needed. He'd been especially busy the last few weeks – on a ship the size of the _Enterprise_ overseeing physicals for all crew members took some doing, even with a staff as large as McCoy's. "Bones?"

"Yes, fine. Now will you go away already?" McCoy huffed, turning his back on Jim to complete his report. "Tell Spock you're abnormally healthy despite your best attempts and fit to carry on gallivanting around the universe for another six months."

"Aye aye Doctor Bones! Dinner. Nineteen hundred. Don't make me come get you."

Jim bounced out of sickbay and into the corridor, but not before hearing Bones's parting comments _"Damn fool infant."_

* * *

"Captain, forgive me for saying so, but that is an abnormally large portion of food, even for someone with a metabolism as active as yours." Jim looked up as he balanced a bowl of peach cobbler on the edge of his tray, dislodging a glass of milk that Spock narrowly caught before it could spill.

"Huh? Oh, right. Bones is finally done with the crew physicals and I made him promise to come have dinner with us."

"I see." Spock said, clearly questioning Jim's sanity. "And that requires copious amounts of sweetened desserts?"

"You know Bones and his health kicks." Jim shrugged, following Spock towards their usual table. Technically he had his own private dining room, but he could count on the one hand the number of times he'd actually used it. He preferred eating here, with his crew, where anyone could and did approach him. "The guy needs to chill out and eat pie."

"Two portions of it?"

"One's mine. I'm Captain. The Captain can have pie if he wants to." Jim said defensively, drawing what he'd come to recognize as a look of extreme indulgence on Spock's face. That, and a twinkle in his eye. "You're screwing with me."

"How so, Jim?"

"Ugh, don't do that. Save your contrary Vulcanness for Bones, he needs a good argument." Jim protested, swerving to balance his overloaded tray as he navigated the galley.

"I understand your desire to provide the doctor with favorable portions of food, but is he not capable of carrying his own tray, or do you simply desire to make a fool of yourself in front of your crew?"

"You could help, you know." Jim suggested, finally able to deposit his load.

"And yet I find this infinitely more agreeable." Spock said, taking a seat opposite Jim.

"Remind me why I enjoy your company again?" Jim huffed, grinning into his glass as he downed ice cold water – see Bones, he listens!

Spock calmly set about arranging his utensils in order to eat, something he did in a manner as orderly and methodically as he did everything else. "I believe that blame can be ascribed to your high levels of masochism." Spock said without hesitation.

"Ouch." Jim held a hand to his heart. "Right in the ego."

"I do not believe the wound to be fatal." Spock said dryly.

"Where the hell is Bones?" Jim grumbled, looking around the galley for the doctor. "The sooner he gets here the sooner you can stop picking on me."

"Picking on-"

"It's a figure of speech and you damn well know it." Jim glared at his first officer. Spock got away with so much shit by pulling the 'I fail to understand this cultural reference' card. Hell, he'd lived on Earth longer than Jim had!

"I-"

Jim was saved from what would no doubt have been a cutting response by the chime of his comm. "Kirk here."

"_Captain_."

A wide grin split his face. "Nurse Chapel! Is Doctor McCoy still down there with you? You can tell him from me his cobbler is going to be cold if he doesn't haul ass."

"_Yes, sir, the doctor is still here. I…I just. Captain, you need to come down."_

"Now?" Jim frowned. "Is everything alright?" She sounded…she sounded upset. Jim had known Christine Chapel to see through some horrific things and keep on moving without sounding even half as distressed as she did then.

"_Please, Captain. It's an emergency."_

Jim was up and out of his seat in less than a second. "I'm on my way."

"Captain-" Spock moved to follow but Jim shook his head.

"Report to the bridge, I'll be in contact if I need anything."

Spock nodded. "Yes Captain."

Jim didn't run – he never ran unless the situation absolutely demanded it, it panicked the crew to see their commanding officer running through the halls – but he double timed it to the lift and barked out a command to take him to sickbay, leaving Spock and his dinner behind. It wasn't like he expected people to pick up after him, but sometimes things just worked out that way.

His mind was in overdrive as he exited the lift, wondering why Bones hadn't been the one to call him. Sickbay was his domain.

He reached the main doors and stepped into the room, his presence going unnoticed by the only crew members inside.

Jim's chest went cold at the glassy sheen to Christine's eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and Bones…

Bones was yelling at her, and not in his usual blustering way. "What the hell did you do that for?" He demanded.

"You didn't give me any choice!" She snapped back. McCoy had his back to Jim, who could clearly see the tension in his friend's shoulders. Whatever happened, Bones was seriously upset.

"You had no right!"

"I told the Captain it is an emergency and he's coming down here." Christine said stubbornly. "He needs to know."

Jim watched as Bones's shoulders sagged. "Of course he does…but damnit, I needed some time."

"What time?" Chapel said, her voice softening to match McCoy's. "The information is automatically correlated and forwarded for his final approval. Did you want him to find out by reading some report?"

"No. Christ no." McCoy sighed. "But how the hell am I going to tell him? This will devastate him, Christine."

That did nothing to stem the rising tide of cold fear growing in Jim's chest. "Tell me what?"

Both doctor and nurse jumped at the sound of his voice. Jim was sure he wasn't imagining the guilty look on McCoy's face. "Jim-"

"Tell me what, doctor?" Because if Bones wanted to hide things from Jim, that was fine, but clearly this was something bigger, something that as Captain he needed to know.

Bones, who had never been very good at lying to anyone, least of all Jim, stood and squared his shoulders, his face a perfect mask of compassion and competency. It was the look he wore when dealing with patients who weren't Jim and therefore didn't warrant a lecture. "I completed the crew's physicals."

"I know." Jim said, waiting for the punch line.

"Everyone is fine. Fit as a fiddle really, with one exception." He met Jim's gaze unwaveringly. Bones was good at this, breaking bad news to people. Far better than Jim, who never seemed to have the right words to express himself.

"Is it serious?" Jim found himself asking. Of course it was serious. Chapel wouldn't have called him if it wasn't. Bones wouldn't be giving him the doctor special.

McCoy didn't blink. "Terminal. "

Jim forced himself not to react, already imagining the worst. McCoy said this would devastate him, and really _anyone_ in his crew having such a condition would break his heart, but clearly it was going to be more personal. Someone he cared about. Someone he loved.

Uhura? Scotty? Was it Christine? Was that why she called? Was…was it Spock? "Tell me." He said, desperately not wanting an answer.

"It's xenopolycythemia, Jim." Bones said gently. "There is no cure."

"Who is it?"

Bones's shoulders slumped, barely noticeable if you weren't scrutinizing him as closely as Jim was. He looked like he was steadying himself to answer, and with his next words ripped a hole in the universe right beneath Jim's feet. "Me, Jim. It's me."


	2. Chapter 2

Mirror verse McCoy died of xenopolycythemia, which fills me with sad. I won't be following the steps the episode took to finding the cure and McCoy won't be getting married to a strange lady with really odd eyeliner, but there will be lots of feels. Lots and lots of feels, and a plot that I hope will work within the new parameters we have been given in reboot land.

That said, I'm still not a doctor so you will have to forgive any errors I make!

* * *

Jim's face slipped into a perfectly blank mask barely a second after McCoy spoke. He knew that look. It was one Jim wore when he was so utterly overwhelmed by something, good or bad, that he completely shut down. McCoy had only been on the receiving end of if a couple of times over the last six years, but each time he hoped to god would be the last.

"No." Jim said, shaking his head stubbornly. "You did something wrong. Do the tests again."

"Jim-" McCoy tried, reaching out for his friend and closing his eyes miserably when Jim pulled away. He hadn't flinched back like that in months now.

That had been the first thing that had come into his head when he'd read the results of his tests.

Fear.

He feared for his mom, who had barely coped after her husband's death and most certainly would not survive her son's.

He feared for his daughter, who had already been through so much at such a young age. How could he add to that hurt? How would she grow up without her daddy?

And Christ, he feared for Jim. His best friend was the worst loser in existence but this was not something even Jim could fight. Who the hell would keep the kid in one piece when he was gone?

But really that was it. Just fear for his family. The rest would come later, when the news finally sunk in.

"Get M'benga down here." Jim barked at Christine, who was losing her battle against her tears.

Jim wasn't crying. Jim was angry.

And McCoy…he was numb.

"I get that you want a second opinion-"

"I want all the fucking opinions." Jim snapped at him. "The tests are wrong. You fucked it up, I don't know, or the samples got contaminated or-"

McCoy ignored Jim's flinch and grabbed his arm, squeezing hard until Jim stopped looking everywhere in the room but at him. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't question my professional integrity, kid." McCoy said, aiming for some levity that fell painfully flat.

Jim's eyes were cold and hard. "Do them again." He said firmly. "That's an order."

"Captain-" McCoy couldn't be angry with Christine, not even for going behind his back and calling Jim down. He probably wouldn't have had the balls if she hadn't forced his hand. So no, he wasn't angry, but she didn't know Jim like he did.

Jim ignored her and shrugged off McCoy's hands. "Get M'benga down here." He repeated, swallowing so hard McCoy could see the strain of it in his throat. "Run the tests again."

It wouldn't make any difference. The facts didn't lie and McCoy knew exactly what he was looking at. Xenopolycythemia was an incredible rare condition, but fairly easy to diagnose when all of the symptoms were presented.

But still… maybe he _was_ wrong. God, what he'd give to be wrong.

He nodded to Christine. "Call M'benga in." He told her. She nodded, hurrying to obey.

Jim had taken a position against the wall, his whole posture radiating hostility. "I can call you when it's done." McCoy said. Jim glared at him. "Or not." He sighed.

* * *

Of course M'benga found exactly the same results as McCoy did, the two doctors huddled over the computer comparing analyses for almost an hour, looking for any other possible diagnostic. Eventually M'benga shook his head sadly, his dark eyes full of compassion.

"I'm so sorry, Leonard." He said quietly.

McCoy nodded. He should have known better than to hope. He looked up and met Jim's gaze across the room.

The captain looked no less angry, and if he'd moved at all since M'benga had arrived McCoy hadn't seen it. A quiet, still Jim was a dangerous thing.

Eventually Jim spoke up. "So you have xenopolycythemia." He said, his voice deceptively soft. "Find a cure."

"There is no cure, Jim." McCoy shook his head hopelessly.

Jim didn't look impressed. "You're the greatest fucking doctor who's ever lived," he snarled. "You brought me back from the _dead_. You seriously expect me to believe you can't find a damn cure for a goddamn illness?"

"It's not that simple, Jim." McCoy sighed, slightly stunned that he was remaining so calm when experience told him he'd have started yelling back at Jim ages ago. "Polycythemia is often the result of a inherited genetic mutation in which the body produces too high a level of red blood cells, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred it is a symptom of an overlying cause, like steroid abuse or a tumor."

"So if it's just a symptom then why can't you isolate the cause and treat it? You fix the main problem and it'll go away, right?" There was something slightly desperate in Jim's eyes as he spoke.

"Yes. No. Look, that's polycythemia, a condition only found in humans. _Xeno_polycythemia is a couple of steps up the mutation ladder. There's no underlying cause so there is nothing to treat. My body will continue to produce too many red blood cells, my blood flow will thicken until it either causes a stroke or a heart attack." He found it easier to just focus on the facts than try and imagine them happening to himself. There was a distance in the diagnostics and delivery of bad news that provided a buffer against reality.

"So what exactly are you saying?" Jim asked, the anger slowly cracking to something much more heartbreaking. "You're dying?"

It was hard to think of it like that. _Dying_.

But there was no other truth.

"Yeah."

Jim's expression crumpled into something utterly wretched and his eyes gleamed with tears.

"I'll still be able to do my job, probably right up until the end." McCoy tried to find something, anything, so fix on.

"How long?" Jim asked.

"A year, no more." McCoy said gently.

Jim screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, visibly trying to control himself. When he was able to look at McCoy again he shook his head stubbornly.

"I won't accept that. We'll find a cure."

"Jim," McCoy pleaded.

Jim ignored him and turned to M'benga. "You're dropping anything else you're working on. This is your first and _only_ priority, am I clear?"

M'benga wouldn't meet McCoy's eyes. He knew as well as McCoy did that no matter how bullheaded Jim might be, this wasn't something he could beat. "Yes Captain."

"Whatever you need to get it done. Anything."

"Access to the labs, maybe a few extra researchers." M'benga still refused to look at McCoy, who frowned. It sounded as if he bought into Jim's belief that this was something they could fix.

"I'll have Spock free you up some space and I'll forward you the personnel files of all qualified crew members. You can have your pick."

"Jim, we can't just drop everything for this." McCoy said, trying to be as gentle as he could.

It wouldn't have made a difference. Jim was at his most obstinate worst. "Really? Because last time I checked I was Captain and I'm ordering you to do so." The anger was back, the gleam of tears gone and only ice-cold anger remaining.

McCoy tried to tell himself that Jim wasn't actually angry with _him_, but it was hard to do so when Jim was looking at him like that.

"_Captain, is everything alright?" _Spock's query made them all jump and Jim flinched again. He looked momentarily torn.

"Yes. No. Yes. _Fuck." _ He breathed in sharply. "How's things on the bridge?"

It was so far from subtle McCoy doubted Spock would let him get away with it, but clearly the hobgoblin had picked up a thing or two over the years and could read the words Jim did not speak.

"_We are within twenty minutes of arriving at Ipathia. The governor has sent his greetings already and invited you to their gala dinner this evening_."

"I don-" Jim cut himself off sharply. "I'll be right up. Kirk out."

"_Very good, sir."_

McCoy could tell that the very last thing Jim wanted to be doing right then was playing politics. He'd forgotten all about the current mission, if truth be told, and had been so preoccupied with finishing the physicals that he had not joined Jim and Spock for dinners as he sometimes did, or visited the bridge as frequently.

He knew only that the Ipathi habited a small, resource rich planet which had recently contacted the Federation and expressed a desire to join. It was Jim's job to get them to sign on the dotted line, so to speak.

A milk run, as Jim called it. McCoy worried anyway. The whole volcano incident had popped up during one of Jim's so called 'milk runs' and look how that had ended.

"Light duties only, Doctor McCoy." Jim said, then turned back to M'benga. "Get to work." He said, much more brusquely than he usually spoke to the crew. Then to Christine. "Keep an eye on him."

"Do I get a say in this?" McCoy said, exasperation finally winning over.

Jim fixed him with those cold eyes again. "No."

* * *

Jim had left shortly after, leaving McCoy, M'benga and Christine alone in sickbay. The silence was thick and cloying, and McCoy jumped in surprise when Christine's hand slid into his.

"I know it's a stupid question, but-"

"I'm okay." McCoy said in a monotone.

"Right." She whispered. "The Captain is right, you know. We'll find a cure. We have a little time. You just have to try and stay positive."

McCoy found himself nodding. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'll get to work." M'benga said quietly. "Your input would be greatly appreciated."

McCoy nodded again and said nothing as he left.

Christine squeezed his hand tightly. "What do you want to do?"

"Get disgustingly drunk?"

She smiled weakly. "I guess that would be understandable."

"No." McCoy said. "No. Maybe later. I'm going to go clean up, grab some dinner and then head down with the landing party."

"Is that a good idea?"

"I'm not on my deathbed yet, Chris." McCoy said stubbornly. "And Jim's a vindictive little shit when he wants to be. He'll probably get himself into trouble just to spite me."

"I'm sorry I called him down here." She said.

"Don't be. All the ways that could have gone…he didn't break anything, so…better than I anticipated." He sighed, shoulders slumping and suddenly feeling utterly exhausted.

"We'll find a cure." Christine said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "We're not letting you go without a fight."

* * *

McCoy was waiting for Jim in the transport room. There was a sure sign of how much he didn't want to be alone with his own thoughts, or face the now very real reality that he was not going to see his daughter's eleventh birthday.

Jim stepped into the room, Spock on his heels, and paused in surprise.

McCoy knew Spock well enough by now to know that despite the utterly placid expression, he was damn near fretting like a worried mother. It was in the proximity of his body to Jim's, several inches closer than usual, and the way his gaze kept darting across to his captain.

Jim, on the other hand, looked so cold and untouchable he'd have given the most stalwart Vulcan a run for their credits. Both wore full dress uniforms, much like McCoy himself. The six security officers that accompanied them were in their every day uniforms.

"Room for one more?" McCoy asked, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

"Is that a good idea?" Jim asked.

"I feel fine, Jim. I'd appreciate the chance to stretch my legs."

The steel in Jim's gaze softened ever so slight. "Alright." He said, stepping up to join McCoy on the transporter. When he was close enough to McCoy to lean in and whisper, he did so. "But if you start feeling sick, or weird or-"

"Which one of us is the doctor again?" McCoy asked, grabbing Jim's arm and refusing to let him pull away.

"Bones." Jim pleaded.

The soft sound of that well-worn nickname eased some of the tightness from McCoy's chest. He squeezed Jim's arm and stepped back to make room for Spock. With Jim standing so close to McCoy, and Spock hovering so close to Jim, the three of them occupied one pad.

Jim half glanced over to the ensign on the controls. "Energize."


	3. Chapter 3

"Doctor, might I ask a personal question?" Spock had stuck close to McCoy's side all evening after Jim had made it blatantly clear that he did not appreciate what he referred to as Spock's 'seriously obnoxious and really goddamn annoying hovering'. The security they had brought was spread throughout the enormous room, scanning the crowds of gathered dignitaries and partygoers. They were some of the most experienced members of the crew and had been accompanying Jim to events of a similar nature ever since they had first set out on their five year voyage.

With that knowledge, Spock was no less tense and believed it to be, as usual, entirely Jim's fault.

After being summoned to sickbay, Jim had returned to the bridge radiating the kind of anger Spock rarely witnessed in him. He had been cold, irritable and while not entirely out of line in his manner of address, still a far cry from his usual jovial self that Spock knew he was not alone in his concern.

None of that anger was in evidence currently, not unless you knew him well. Jim was across the room, thoroughly charming the Ipathi High Priestess and her court, all smiles and wit. To the casual observer, he was relaxed and enjoying himself.

To Spock, he looked about as miserable as McCoy did.

The doctor had been staring at the contents of his glass for several minutes before Spock found the words to open a dialogue with him and looked up in surprise when Spock spoke.

"You're going to anyway." McCoy said with his usual gruffness.

Spock inclined his head in agreement. There was something unnaturally satisfying about provoking the doctor's reactions that even Jim could not match.

"I am…concerned." He broached carefully. McCoy was a prickly man by nature and fiercely protective of Jim. While they had reached an agreement on that many months ago, and indeed often presented a united front when Jim was being truly obstinate, Spock was still cautious not to overstep his bounds. The friendship McCoy and Jim shared was very different, if no less intense, than the one Jim shared with Spock, or indeed Spock shared with McCoy.

"Too much plomeek in your plomeek soup again?"

Spock ignored the barb. "After the captain returned from sickbay, he displayed very uncharacteristic behavior to the point that I am, as stated, _concerned_ that something perhaps transpired while he was there. In light of the requests he made upon his return I can only conclude that the issue at hand is one of a medical nature. I appreciate that the bonds of doctor patient confidentiality are such that in asking you this I am perhaps overstepping my boundaries, but I believe we have reached a point in our professional relationship where candor is perceived as the most valuable of approaches. I will therefore ask you as a friend and not as a doctor…Leonard, is Jim unwell?"

McCoy blinked at him, his mouth slack with surprise. Spock settled back on his heels and returned to his usual resting position, feeling strangely calm now he had said his piece. Whatever the news, they would deal with it.

Eventually McCoy swallowed and spoke. "Jim's fine."

Spock felt himself relax further. "That is welcome news."

"You really babble when you're worried, anyone ever told you that?" McCoy said.

"I do not babble, doctor." Spock said, affronted.

"Uh huh. So what was that?"

"A question."

"Well it was nearly as long as Scotty's rant about Delta Vega." McCoy snorted, drawing to memory the tediously long three-day period he, McCoy, Jim and Scott spent down on the planet while conducting exploration. Even Spock had been left with the desire to obliterate the planet upon their return. In the end it had been Jim who had put stop to Scott's seemingly endless diatribe. _Did a giant ice monster from hell try to eat you while you were here? No? Then can it._

Spock was suddenly able to hear Jim's strained laughter from across the room as he accepted a large ornate cup from the High Priestess. She drank from one side then offered it to Jim. She was clearly interested in him in a carnal manner, and if McCoy was to be believed Jim would flirt with anything from sentient beings to the _Enterprise's_ supercomputer.

"You do know why he is upset though," he said to McCoy, "do you not?" McCoy didn't answer. "I see." Spock said softly, tension quickly returning. It was upset that was at the root of Jim's anger, Spock knew him well enough to recognize that, and there were few things that could provoke such emotions in Jim. "I will not ask you to betray a confidence, but please know that if I can be of assistance in any way you have but to ask."

"I…thanks." McCoy said, oddly subdued. "I'll get back to you on that if I can?"

Spock inclined his head in indication that McCoy should do just that. He did however feel the need to make a modification to his statement in order that he was not misunderstood. "I do not just refer to my skills as a researcher. If I can be of help in a more personal nature-"

"Thanks." McCoy said quickly, saving Spock from having to continue. He found it much harder to make such open statements with McCoy than he did Jim. Possibly because Jim tended to make a nuisance of himself until Spock did so while McCoy, irritating as he could be, at least had some measure of decorum about him.

"You are most wel-"

Their quiet conversation was suddenly interrupted by a shrill scream from across the room and they spun on instinct. Several of the High Priestess's attendants were panicking and it had been one of their number who had cried out.

The Priestess herself was unconscious, caught in her fall by Jim, who had barely saved her from a painful collision with the hard floor. He cradled her carefully and bellowed across the crowd. "Bones!"

McCoy was already on the move and Spock hurried after him, scarcely noticing their security officers moving to assess any threat to their captain.

McCoy crashed to his knees at Jim's side as the woman began to convulse. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Jim reported, his eyes narrowed in concern. "She just started to seize." He turned his attention back to the woman in his arms as McCoy helped him settle her down so he could scan her better. "O'yia, can you hear me? It's Jim. You're going to be fine, I promise."

"She's been poisoned." McCoy said grimly, his tricorder already feeding him results.

Spock's gaze fell on the ornate cup that had fallen with the Priestess, and then to Jim. "Doctor, I believe the Captain might have ingested the same toxins." He said, finding that strange center of calm he inhabited when Jim was in danger. He carefully took a sample of the spilled wine for analysis.

McCoy's gaze jerked sharply up at Jim, who stared back helplessly. He was saved having to make the choice between patients by the arrival of the Ipahti's own physicians, all who crowded around their matriarch and briskly rushed her away for treatment.

The Ipathi Chancellor was beside himself, barking out orders to catch whoever was responsible while simultaneously trying to apologize to Jim, who was by that point being pawed at by McCoy. "-so sorry, no idea what could have happened, forgive us please, are you well, Captain, never our intention…" his words all jumbled together in his mad rush to express his concern, no doubt terrified that the situation could jeopardize the planet's admission into the Federation.

Attempted murder of the Federation's key delegate could do such a thing, especially when that figure was as widely loved and respected in the Federation as Jim was.

Jim was trying to calm him down while wriggling out of McCoy's grasp. "I'm sure you will make every effort to apprehend those responsible, Chancellor, however I have no intention of allowing this to have any adverse consequences for innocent parties." Jim assured him, still on his knees. "Please, if there is anything we can do to provide assistance. My security will support your staff in finding who poisoned the wine, and the _Enterprise's_ physicians are some of the very best in the galaxy-" Jim squirmed away from McCoy, "and very persistent," he added with an irritated scowl in McCoy's direction.

"You are most generous, Captain Kirk, most generous indeed, you are not damaged yourself I trust?' The Chancellor practically gushed in gratitude, wringing Jim's hand even from his knees.

"No-"

"Yes." McCoy said grimly.

Jim turned to him. "I feel fine."

"And you're still not a doctor." McCoy hauled him upright. "Chancellor, this will have to wait. Spock?"

Spock nodded and took hold of Jim's other arm, for stability, he told himself, then opened his communicator. "Three to beam up."

* * *

"I'm fine!" Jim said for the tenth time upon being hauled into sickbay like an errant child.

"The wine was poisoned, Jim." McCoy told him sternly, throwing him a small plastic jar. "Piss in that."

"Seriously?" Jim exclaimed, catching it on instinct.

"Do it!" McCoy growled, inputting the data from his tricorder into the computer. "Make yourself useful Spock and see if you can't isolate the toxin from the data I'm sending you."

"Yes doctor," Spock set about his task as Jim stomped off to urinate as ordered. He returned a few minutes later and handed McCoy the jar.

"Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Now take off your clothes." McCoy said without looking at him.

"What for?" Jim demanded. "O'yia drank the wine the same time I did and she showed symptoms straight away. Surely if I was effected we'd know by now?" Jim crossed his arms over his chest petulantly and it was clear from the doctor's expression that McCoy was not the only one unimpressed by his attitude.

"There is so much stupidity in that sentence I don't have the time to address it all." McCoy growled. "Clothes off. Now. I want to check for rashes."

"Maybe I'm shy." Jim shot back at him angrily. Spock found himself glancing up from the computer in surprise. Jim's dislike of medical treatment was well documented, but even this was extreme behavior.

"Bullshit."

"Look, I feel fine so –"

"Just do as you are fucking told!" The volume and tone McCoy used as almost as shocking as Jim's reaction. He frequently shouted at Jim and his words often sounded harsh to those who observed them. They were never meant that way, and Jim never responded to them as if they were.

But there was no mistaking the sudden gleam of tears in Jim's eyes, nor the way he huddled in on himself, and there was anger in McCoy's voice that far exceeded his usual outbursts.

Spock could only stare at them both, the sense of dread that was growing inside of him utterly unrelated to their current concerns of poison.

Jim silently stripped out of his uniform and sat on the end of one of the biobeds while McCoy scanned him more thoroughly. Neither said a word. When he was done, McCoy attempted to put a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder but recoiled at Jim's subtle flinch. He turned away, missing Jim's shattered expression and his attempt to take McCoy's hand.

Spock's dread grew. There was something very wrong here.

His computer finally isolated the poison and flashed up the results. He forwarded them on to McCoy, whose eyebrows shot up in alarm. "What the hell?" He asked Spock.

"The results are accurate." Spock reassured him. "But it was my understanding that given human physiology, these levels should have proven instantly fatal."

"What are you talking about?" Jim frowned.

"There's enough brodifacuom in your system to kill a man twice your size." McCoy said grimly.

"But I feel fine!" Jim said earnestly. "Genuinely fine!"

"I'm not saying I don't believe you." McCoy said gently. "But you should be dead right now."

"I've been dead. I feel a whole lot more sprightly than I did then." Jim said bitterly. "Maybe I'm immune or something?"

"Given your previous medical history, I feel it is more likely a lingering effect of Khan's augmented blood in your system." Spock said, trying to be gentle. Jim absolutely hated the fact that it had been Khan's blood that saved his life, though not enough to say so to either of them directly.

"Well chock one up for everyone's favorite psychopath." Jim muttered. "But hey, having the man's blood in me has to come with some perks, right, I mean besides the obvious and-" Jim's eyes suddenly widened and he paused mid-rant. '"Bones that's it!"

"It is?" McCoy frowned at him, clearly not following.

Jim did not seem to care. "Brodifacuom is an anticoagulant, right? It kills people by stopping their ability to produce Vitamin K."

"How do you even know that?" McCoy shook his head.

"We had classes on poisons on Tarsus." Jim said absently. "My point is, my blood's fine, right? I mean, aside from being Khan's. It's showing up on your scans as fine."

"Yes." McCoy agreed. "There's nothing physically wrong with you."

"Because Khan's blood is either immune to the effects or can counteract them!" Jim said excitedly. "You said yourself that my healing time has practically halved since the transfusion." He pointed at the very faint scar he bore from the war with the Klingons, the only visible evidence that his throat had been slit. "So maybe we can use that. Xenopolycythemia reduces the oxygenation of the blood, right? If my blood can battle off poisons, maybe we can use it to create a counteragent?"

Spock stared at the two men, the day's events suddenly coming into bright, painful clarity.

"You have xenopolycythemia." He found himself saying to McCoy.

"Yeah." McCoy said softly, not taking his eyes off Jim, who was all but vibrating with ideas.

"You are dying." Spock had no control over the words that left his mouth.

Before McCoy could answer, Jim cut in. "No he's not." He said stubbornly. "Now I've got ten pints of self replicating super blood here and we are damn well going to put them to use."


	4. Chapter 4

On a ship as tightly knit as theirs, it was only a matter of time before the word got out.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, and no matter what he might say in defense of it, Leonard McCoy was one of the most well loved figures on the ship. His irritable and cantankerous nature was predictable and strangely soothing, his loyalty and dedication inspiring. He was respected by all and loved by a great many. The news of his condition hit them all hard.

Beyond the diagnosis, the facts were few. They knew that Doctor McCoy had been diagnosed with xenopolycythemia and had less than a year to live. They knew that the Captain and Commander Spock had responded to it like they did a crisis threatening the end of the world.

And really that was all they needed to know. They'd seen Jim and Spock save planets, end wars and bitchslap fate in the face a good few times. If they were on McCoy's case then all would be well. It was a matter of _when_ they found the cure, not _if,_ and so within days of the news leaking, the crew were cautiously optimistic.

They didn't see what Nyota did. There were only a handful of people who did.

McCoy's diagnosis was six months ago, and they were no closer to a cure than they had been the day they started.

Oh they'd ruled lots of things out, and that Spock said, trying hard to maintain his own hopes as well as Jim's, was positive.

She was the only one who he let see his mounting frustration and his growing fear. He hid it from everyone, McCoy and Jim especially, but he'd never been able to hide from her.

She'd gotten used to a cold bed and a distant lover, not begrudging him a second he spent in the labs pouring over Jim's blood.

His professional work was faultless. The same could be said for all three of them. In the past six months they had overseen two First Contacts, presided over peace talks for a six hundred year old conflict, found a cure for a deadly neurotoxin and mapped out nearly one million kilometers of uncharted space. The conflicts they had encountered had been few and far between, their enemies sensing quickly that a fight was exactly what Jim Kirk wanted to settle his nerves, and they would not emerge victorious.

The commendations were coming in thick and fast, the requests for their presence increasing tenfold, and through it all Nyota marveled that no one could see how rapidly the _Enterprise's_ core foundation was crumbling into dust.

If they didn't find a cure, there would be three dead men at the year's end. If the heartbreak didn't kill them, Kirk's bad luck would do the job.

Speaking of bad luck…

"Captain! Cap- Jim, can I have a word?" She tried to act like she hadn't been hovering outside Jim's quarter's for the best part of twenty minutes. Jim had a completely unique shift pattern and an incredibly long one at that. He'd just got off twenty four hours on duty and any sane person should have been hitting the sack hard. Jim had returned to his quarters, showered, and was now heading out again, no doubt to meet Spock in the labs.

"What can I do for you Lieutenant?" Jim said tiredly. He looked like hell, wearing the strain far worse than Spock who had the benefit of Vulcan genetics on his side. He also wasn't using himself as a lab rat the way she knew Jim was. He had the perpetually pallid complexion of a man who was donating blood far too frequently and in too great a quantity and it perfectly matched the dark circles under his eyes. Knowing him as well as she did, she was also convinced that he only ate because failing to do so would jeopardize his ability to give blood as frequently as he did, and even then she knew both Spock and McCoy had to remind him.

She didn't think McCoy had started to show any symptoms of his condition but he was as good a lair as Jim when he wanted to be and had an M.D. to hide behind.

"I was just… I want to volunteer." She offered, nearly having to jog to keep pace with his longer stride.

"Volunteer for what?" Jim frowned at her, oblivious as to how she could help. He had an army of researchers who were either trained in biology or chemistry or both, he had Spock, who had the sharpness of mind and the stamina to review test results almost faster than they were delivered, and he had his own razor sharp intellect. What did he need her for?

"I want to help out in the lab." She said stubbornly, already having been nominated by their friends to be the one to infiltrate the operation. Christine had already tried and failed, sabotaged by McCoy who had given her a great deal more responsibility in sickbay over the last few months while he divided his time between his job and research. Of the others, only she had a prior relationship with all three men and with that the freedom to push a little harder than was strictly professional.

"You have a chemistry degree you failed to mention to me?" Jim said, entering the turbolift and taking them down to deck fifteen.

"No but I replicate a mean coffee." She said, ruthlessly pushing Jim's blatant weak spot. "And no offense, but you look like you need one."

Jim smiled tiredly and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, coffee would be good right now."

She felt a little guilty about taking advantage of him when he clearly needed a long night of sleep, but desperate times…

They were long overdue an intervention.

"Excellent. I'll come down after my shift and be lab mother." She said, not waiting for Jim to protest.

"You're hardly the maternal type." He told her, letting her take the lead as they left the lift and entered the lab.

"And if you were my son I'd have you over my knee in a heartbeat." She said serenely, smiling at Spock who had looked up from his work at the sound of their arrival.

"My brain is way too fried to even respond to that." Jim shook his head in astonishment. "So many unfulfilled fantasies. Yes, Spock, I used to have a crush on your girlfriend, despite the number of times she threatened to castrate me…or maybe because of it, I never really wanted to delve that deep into my psyche." He slid down onto the stool next to Spock like his whole body ached. "Anything?"

"Nothing, forgive me." Spock said, his voice soft and physically painful for Nyota to hear.

Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. "You gotta stop apologizing every day." He sighed. "Alright, send over the last batch of samples and I'll run them through a couple of new sims."

Nyota made her way over to the replicator, fully intending to get Jim the coffee he so clearly needed, but just caught the hesitant look on Spock's face. "Jim… we lost the latest batch. They were contaminated."

Jim looked up in distress. "How? What happened?"

"The K12 Unit filed them incorrectly alongside yesterday's recordings. The initial date was salvageable and I have corrected the error to ensure it does not happen again, but-"

"But we're out of the red stuff." Jim concluded with a pained grimace. "Okay, so we just move up the harvesting process."

"That would be most unwise." Spock frowned. "It has not yet been forty-eight hours since your last transfusion."

"Better put a shit load of sugar in that coffee, Uhura." Jim called over to her.

"You should not be drinking caffeine at all." Spock scolded.

"And yet it's that or something stronger." Jim threatened, moving over to a small biomedical station set against the far wall. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal an arm riddled with black and blue marks and took a seat. "Christ, I can't believe we still have to use needles for this shit." He grimaced, disinfecting the skin and lining up one long transfusion set, the silver needle gleaming in the bright laboratory lights.

"Can't you just use a computer sim from a base sample?" Nyota asked, horrified by the extent of the bruising.

"Unfortunately not. We did try initially but Jim's blood is most unpredictable." Spock looked rather distressed at the fact. "While we can extract some basic hypotheses from digital replications we need live samples for the actual tests." He stood from his seat and moved closer to Jim, who was flicking at his arm in annoyance.

Nyota was no medic but she knew it was a whole lot less painful putting things into the bloodstream with hyposprays than it was using any means of extracting blood from the body. "Should you be doing that?" She asked, clutching a hot cup of coffee in her hands as Jim struggled to find a vein he hadn't abused too much.

"No he should not." Spock said, his hand curling over Jim's and stilling his progress. "You are not fit. We can wait a few more days."

"Can we?" Jim snarled at him, his anger suddenly bright and bursting beyond the surface. "Because we've been at this for six whole months and have nothing to show for it but this!" he pointed angrily at his arm. "And what if it takes us another six months? Bones doesn't have that time to spare, Spock! I know my limits, okay? And even if this is pushing them what's the worst that could happen? Please. We have to keep working. _Please._"

She knew Jim had won when he dropped the anger and turned to pleading. There weren't many people who could say no to Jim when he looked at Spock the way he did then. Even Nyota would have given in to the urge and hugged him, and she wanted to wring his neck nine days out of ten. Jim was abusing that look a little too often in her opinion, but what could she really say? The man was trying to save his best friend's life.

Spock relented, returning to his seat and his data, silent and full of self reproach as Jim finally found a vein and slid the needle into his arm.

"Just the one, Jim." He finally said as Jim settled back and let the blood run from his arm into a machine that processed and divided it up for testing.

"We need-"

"Just the one." Spock said sternly. "We can get more in a few days."

Jim looked like he wanted to protest but eventually settled down.

After several minutes, the machine beeped. Jim sat up, carefully extracted himself from the needle and tubes and moved to take a seat at his station.

He made it two steps before passing out cold in the middle of the floor.

Nyota was actually closer to him by that point and rushed to his side. "Jim!"

He was already coming to by the time she pressed her hands to his face, eyelashes fluttering. "This isn't my desk." He said in confusion.

"You fainted." Nyota told him, stroking his hair and fixing him with her sternest glare. "You have to take better care of yourself."

"I did not faint." Jim looked highly offended by the idea.

"You swooned like a princess in a fairytale, you idiot."

"Maybe I just like the view from down here?" Jim shrugged. It didn't escape her notice that he hadn't tried sitting up.

"Jesus Christ," She looked over her shoulder as McCoy barged into the lab with Spock at his side and crouched down next to Jim.

"Don't yell at me, Bones." Jim said sadly.

"Like it makes any damn difference when I do." McCoy grumbled, scanning Jim over.

"You know why I do it." Jim pleaded.

"Does anyone know why you do anything?" McCoy glared at him, then up at Spock. "You're supposed to stop him pulling stupid shit like this."

"Spock isn't my keeper, Bones." Jim struggled to sit up, letting Nyota ease her hands under his back and help. She was glad he spoke up in defense of Spock because if he hadn't she sure as hell would. Spock tended to hoard guilt like it was going out of style.

"You're a grown man for christsake. You shouldn't need a keeper." McCoy snarled at him. "This rate you're going to end up dead before I am." Everyone recoiled, McCoy included. "I didn't mean it like that."

Jim ignored him and pushed himself to his feet. He shook off the hands that moved to steady him and without another word stormed out of the lab.

"Jim! _Damnit_." McCoy slumped down into the chair Jim had left unoccupied. His head in his hands.

He looked exhausted and worn thin. "Coffee?" Nyota offered, uncharacteristically timid with him.

He glanced up, his face sober and lacking even the hint of warmth it usually excluded. "He drives me fucking crazy some times."

"I'm pretty sure that's going to be the title of most of our biographies one day." She said, smiling at him.

"I should go talk to him." McCoy sighed, though it looked like he lacked the energy to even stand…an emotional weariness, not yet a physical one.

"I will go." Spock said quietly. He'd not said much since Jim had collapsed. "Please know, doctor, that despite the way it perhaps looks, both Jim and I act with the very best of desires. It is not our intention to hurt you in any way. Quiet the opposite in fact."

"I know, Spock." McCoy said wearily. "I know."

Spock nodded and silently left in pursuit of Jim, leaving Nyota alone with McCoy.

She didn't hesitate in wrapping her arms around him. Jim and Spock might be hurting, but he was the one this was happening to and he needed more than the extra stress they were creating.

He said nothing, simply curled his arm around her and leaned his head against her shoulder.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" He asked her, worried as always for everyone but himself.

She could not lie to him.

"I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

Finding Jim was somewhat more complicated than Spock initially anticipated. For a start, Jim was no longer on the ship, having beamed down to the refit base of SSK7 almost as soon as he had left the lab. With the refits Mr Scott had been overseeing due to be complete later that day, many of the crew had taken the opportunity to beam down for a change of scenery and Jim had quickly managed to lose himself in the crowds.

Which left Spock with a conundrum. Where would Jim Kirk gravitate to when he was both in uniform, and extremely upset?

The answer provided itself based on shared memories and stories told with the amusement of hindsight.

Jim would find a bar.

The idea of him drinking was highly disturbing to Spock, not because it was unusual, far from it. Jim, McCoy and Scott were all heavy drinkers. No, Spock worried because Jim's physical condition would render him considerably less capable of consuming the levels of alcohol he usually drank, and that in itself could lead to numerous and troubling implications.

He doubted Jim would get drunk in uniform, even the basic blacks he had been wearing. He was a Starship Captain on a Starbase. He would be recognized. He could not cause trouble the way he once might have chosen to, not without risking his commission.

Privately Spock thought Jim could do worse things than start a drunken brawl and Command would forgive it of him, but Jim was still trying to be on his best behavior after the Kormac incident. He was also deathly afraid of McCoy's condition being leaked beyond the ship and the doctor removed from his post.

The answer, in the end, was incredibly simple. Spock made his way to the Station's main computer and called up Jim's fleet ID. It tagged him in one of the bars close to the maintenance division. That was fitting his usual habits. Jim liked his bars dark, dirty and filled with a more rough and tumble clientele.

In the past, when drinking with the crew, he had chosen more upscale locations, purely out of the belief that some of the people he was responsible for would not fare well in his usual climate. Spock was not ashamed to count himself one of them. He did not like the bars Jim liked for the very reason Jim liked them.

And he did not like what it said about Jim's mental state that he had chosen to return to one when he had come so far from relying on his usual coping methods.

Making his way down to Jim's location, Spock prepared himself for all kinds of scenarios, not least of which was Jim giving himself alcohol poisoning. He'd done that before, according to McCoy.

What he found surprised him.

Jim had managed to find the least respectable venue on the station. And he _had_ managed to start a fight.

If it could really be called that. One man verses six were odds not even Jim could make favorable.

Spock immediately marched into the fray, hauling the human who had Jim bent over the bar up by the scruff of his neck and throwing him into his fellows.

"Hey Spock." Jim grinned drunkenly, his mouth filled with blood he could not afford to lose.

Spock growled in response, suddenly beyond furious. He rounded on Jim's attackers, ready to take out his anger on less precious targets, when a shrill whistle broke up the action.

"That's enough!" The man behind the bar was tall and skinny, his knuckles clenched around a pint glass. "Take a goddamn seat and stop being jackasses." He shouted at the men Jim had picked a fight with. To Spock's surprise, they obligingly did as they were told, returning to their drinks as if they hadn't just brawled moments ago.

Jim rolled off the bar and hit his knees with a wince inducing thud.

"Thank you." Spock told the barman. "I will of course compensate you for any damage my companion caused." He hesitated, "I would…appreciate your silence on this matter, I understand that-"

"That Jim Kirk?" The barman pointed down at Jim's moaning form. Spock nodded uncertainly. "He's younger than he looks in his holos."

Spock nodded again. "He is."

The barman shrugged one thin shoulder. "Came in here looking like he needed a fight as much as he needed that whiskey he's gonna puke up. He ain't the first. Won't be the last. Way I see it we all owe him something: punch in the face is a whole lot cheaper than booze."

Spock understood what he was saying, and the words were reflected on the faces of the other men in the room with them. In that regard, they understood Jim perhaps better than Spock allowed himself to.

"You have our thanks." He hauled Jim up by the one arm, his human weight utterly negligible. "Say goodbye, Jim."

"Bye guys." Jim waved drunkenly, "nice left hook."

Spock did not allow him to finish the conversation before dragging him from the bar and down the hall. At the first private area he found, he pulled Jim over and shook him hard.

Jim whimpered, then vomited, narrowly missing Spock's shoes.

This was the Jim Kirk McCoy had first met. Violent and angry and unable to express his hurt in any other way. This was a Jim Kirk before Starfleet had molded him into something else.

Once he was done voiding his stomach, Spock hauled him upright again. "What are you thinking?" He demanded furiously. "Do you understand what could have happened back there? You were fighting, Jim. You are a Starfleet Captain, not some directionless lout fresh out of jail. You have a responsibility to your crew, you have a responsibility to your friends! There is nothing we would not do for you if you asked it, yet you turn to strangers for senseless violence. You consume alcohol barely hours after losing consciousness. Do you _wish_ McCoy to be correct? Do you seek to die before him?"

Up until that point, Jim had looked at him with wide, glassy eyes and Spock had been forced to harden his heart in anger at the immature stunt Jim had pulled. When he recalled to memory McCoy's words in the lab, all that was recognizable of the Jim he knew vanished, his cold eyes as dead and merciless as those of a shark on the scent of blood.

Jim wrenched himself free with a snarl. "Fuck you, Spock. I don't owe you an explanation."

"I believe you will find that you do." Spock said, purposely reverting back to a matching coldness, one he knew drove Jim crazy. "You are a Captain, Jim. Not a child. Act like it. You will not find me so patient a nursemaid as your doctor."

Jim swung at him, slow and sluggish thanks to both alcohol and his low blood levels. Spock had no problem both blocking the blow and pinning Jim's arm down to his side.

"Damnit, Spock! Let me go!" Jim snarled at him, struggling violently in Spock's hold.

Spock closed his eyes miserably. He had no desire to cause Jim harm, none at all. "You will thank me when you wake up." He assured his Captain, and swiftly applied pressure to the bundle of nerves at his neck.

He held Jim more carefully as he slumped against Spock, and called the _Enterprise. _"Mr Scott, beam myself and the Captain back to the ship, then clear the corridors on Deck Six."

"_Er, aye sir_." Scott sounded most confused by Spock's request, but he did as he was told, and a moment later they were on the transporter pad, Jim slumped in Spock's arms. "Bloody hell! What happened to him?"

"Do not concern yourself with the Captain's affairs, Mr Scott." Spock said sternly. "Have Doctor McCoy meet us in Jim's quarters."

Protocol said he should take Jim to sickbay. Protocol said he should write the Captain up for conduct unbecoming. Neither would happen.

He navigated the empty corridor between the lift and Jim's quarters, making a note to visit security and ensure their silence on the matter when reviewing the feeds.

As soon as he was in Jim's quarters, he lay the Captain down on his bed and gently brought him back to consciousness. Jim was blinking and groaning just as McCoy stormed through the door.

Spock expected a response similar to his own. He expected McCoy to be angry at Jim for his foolish behavior.

Surprisingly, McCoy was not. He sat down on the bed beside Jim and shook his head sadly. "Oh kid, what am I gonna do with you?"

Jim said nothing and he opened his kit to begin repairing the damage Jim had caused himself.

It was mostly superficial. Spock had intervened before it progressed too far, and McCoy worked in silence, cleaning the blood from Jim's face and throat, checking his ribs and torso, and eventually turning his attention on Jim's swollen, bloody knuckles.

Spock stood close by, his anger slowly softening to sorry as he watched the two of them.

McCoy had Jim's hand in his as he carefully realigned a dislocated knuckle and he jumped in surprise when something splashed on the back of his hand.

Spock's attention had been on the repair work, and he too looked up, utterly horrified to see the silent tears rolling down Jim's cheeks.

"I don't want you to die." Jim said brokenly.

McCoy said nothing, he merely pulled Jim into his arms and held him as he cried quietly, his hands bunched in McCoy's shirt as if he was trying to root them together through sheer force of will.

"I'm not leaving you, Jim." McCoy swore, his hand curled around the back of Jim's neck. "I promise. You know how I feel about promises."

Jim continued to cry, quiet and soft, laid bare by the alcohol he had turned to in the hopes of drowning out the pain he was no longer capable of concealing.

McCoy held him until he stilled in his arms, exhausted and senseless. Spock moved forwards and carefully helped McCoy ease him back against the bed.

Then he stood. "I should return to the lab." He said softly.

McCoy didn't look up, his attention once more on finishing the job he had started with Jim's hands. "Are a couple of hours really gonna make a difference?"

"They are not." Spock admitted reluctantly.

"Then stay." McCoy pleaded. "He can't be alone right now and I…I don't want to be, either."

"As you wish, Doctor." Spock said, and took a seat next to McCoy.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry for the angst, really I am. Blob and I send cuddles and fluffy things to cheer you up. xx

* * *

It was still early when Jim woke, stiff limbed and aching. He felt bone tired and light headed, and he wanted to never have to leave the comfortable warmth of his bed ever again.

He wanted things to be the way they used to be. They'd been good. Perfect maybe, even just for a little while.

But as he rolled over and saw Bones sleeping next to him, he knew that wasn't an option.

His movement brought Bones round, and he woke with a grumpy grumble and a gruff, thickly drawled order for Jim to "Go back to sleep for christsake."

Jim blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "I'm not a teddy bear, Bones." He felt the need to remind his friend. Bones, whether it was his traditional southern breeding or his old school romanticism showing through, was one hell of a snuggler, and Jim, who was pernickety about who he let into his personal space on the best of days, had just been sort of steamrollered into accepting the fact.

The arm around his waist tightened until he squawked indignantly and rolled his eyes. Without fail, if he and Bones had to share close quarters when they were sleeping for whatever reason, Jim inevitably ended up tucked under Bones's arm like a child's favorite toy. And to be fair, he let it happen. They both knew that. Jim was a light sleeper even when drunk out of his mind.

"This is how rumors get started." Jim sighed, long suffering.

"That rumor got started because your girlfriend was a sexual deviant with an overactive imagination." Bones drawled sleepily.

"Gaila was not my girlfriend." Jim said for what had to be the millionth time. "And suggesting a threesome is hardly a sexual deviancy, you ginormous prude."

"Everything's a sexual deviancy when you or Gaila were involved. I'm scarred mentally."

"Like that was the worst thing you ever caught us, wait, which time?" Jim tipped his head up to catch McCoy's eye and the smile he was doing a poor job of hiding.

"All the times, Jim." Bones sighed. "Mentally. Scarred."

"I would venture that the feeling I am experiencing now is very similar, doctor. It is a rare sight to see one's commanding officer being, I believe the word is 'cuddled', by one's CMO."

Jim closed his eyes and sighed. "Of course Spock is here. Why are you not snuggling – and snuggling is probably a more accurate description, Mr Spock – why are you not snuggling Spock?"

"Snuggling?" Spock tried out the word with an expression of mild curiosity. "How interesting."

"Shut up the both of you." McCoy growled, giving Jim a good hard shove off the bed. Jim just about salvaged his dignity and his back by grabbing a pillow as he went.

"There is no reason to be ashamed, doctor." Spock said mildly. "It is only fitting that spousal partners partake in…snuggling as to properly convey affection."

Jim managed to smother his laughter in the pillow as McCoy predictably began to splutter indignant protestations. Only Spock could possibly get away with shit like that, and only Spock could make it all sound so funny without expressing a single emotion.

"Forgive me if I am mistaken," Spock said, not sounding at all sorry, "but it is common knowledge on the ship that you and Jim are, as they say, 'an old married couple'."

"Hey, I thought that was you and me?" Jim climbed back on the bed and thumbed his t-shirt – a clean one at least.

"Wonderful." Bones rolled his eyes. "Now you're cheating on me, Jim?"

"Look, I'm sure we could work something out." Jim simpered. The levity was false in many ways, but he needed it desperately, they all did. Things had been so tense the last few months. He'd been so desperate to save Bones's life that he'd hardly had the time to actually do all the things they used to do: mainly make inappropriate bickering an art form.

"I'm not working out a custody agreement with Spock of all people." Bones snorted. "I don't want you weekends and holidays."

"Well that's nice." Jim said with his best pout. "There's always those threesomes you know." He added cheekily, knowing exactly what Bones's reaction would be.

Spock beat him to it though. "How exactly would the logistics of that work?" He frowned, approaching the problem like a science experiment.

Jim opened his mouth to comment but his response was cut off when McCoy belted him in the face with a pillow. "Shower! Now!"

"But this is way more fun." Jim laughed around a mouthful of synthetic feathers.

"Go shower or I'll tell your First Officer what happens when you try have sex with an Orion and an Andorian at the same time." Bones said with that dangerous niceness he always adopted whenever he felt Jim was due a large dose of humiliation and or pain. The subject in question involved both.

"And I'm gone." Jim sprang from the bed and made a hightail for the bathroom. "No snuggling while I'm gone!"

"Vulcans do not snuggle, Captain." Spock told him seriously as the bathroom door was closing.

"I want that on a T-shirt." Jim yelled back.

* * *

When Jim emerged from the shower ten minutes later, clean and freshly dressed in slacks and a sweater, Bones and Spock were sat at the table. It was better than he'd expected. Knowing the both of them he'd half anticipated coming into the room to find them hugging it out just to fuck with him.

"Breakfast." Bones told him, setting down a plate pilled high with Jim's favorite blueberry pancakes. They were a McCoy family recipe and about the only thing Bones could actually manage not to screw up. Jim had spent hours programming them into the replicator.

Still, he hesitated. For all that the joking, jovial tone of the morning had been light so far, Jim wasn't blind to the bigger picture. "I should really get back to the lab." He said hesitantly. Today was his day off, so in theory he could get a significant amount of work done.

"Sit down, Jim." Bones said, firm but quiet. Jim responded to it on instinct, moving before he realized he was doing so. Bones knew that, and he didn't abuse the power.

But it was with growing dread that Jim took his seat. Growing dread and the burn of tears in his eyes. Now he'd let them fall once he wasn't so sure he'd be able to stop them again.

"Bones?"

"We need to set some ground rules here." McCoy said gently. "What happened last night can't happen again."

Jim swallowed, ashamed. He'd sworn he'd never go back to being that person. "I know. I'm sorry. Shit, Spock, the things I said to you, and Christ, I tried to hit you didn't I? I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry." And he was.

Spock inclined his head. He wouldn't let Jim off the hook to spare his feelings, that wasn't how they worked. "I understand. I took no offense." He said generously.

But Bones shook his head. "I'm not talking about that. Though it was a shitty move, kid. You're better than that."

"I know." Jim said contritely. "It won't happen again." He promised, feeling young and foolish and so fucking guilty, because _Bones_ was the one who was dying. He was supposed to be the strong, supportive one this time and look how well that was going.

"It better not." Bones said seriously. "I mean it. You could have really hurt yourself last night, and I'm not talking about the fight. I can't…I can't handle this when I'm too busy worrying about you."

"I'm sorry." Jim whispered again.

Bones shook his head. "Don't be sorry, Jim. Lord knows I've been where you are. I know what you're going through kid, I really do. But I can't have you hurting yourself like that again, and it's not fair to expect Spock to keep picking up after us."

Jim looked across at Spock, who stayed silent but radiating compassion. "I know."

"So. Ground rules."

"Whatever you want." Jim promised him. And he'd do it, even if it broke his heart. Whatever Bones wanted he'd do.

"No more stunts like that with the blood. I should have been keeping a closer eye on you, and I'm sorry, no, don't interrupt. Christine or I will oversee any and all transfusions from now on, am I clear? And you won't be making them more than once a week. That's already much more frequent than I'm comfortable with to be honest."

Jim wanted to protest. That wasn't enough. It would halve their progress time, if not push it back further. But he nodded. Whatever Bones wanted. "Okay."

"Good." Bones nodded, suddenly looking torn. "Jim, I… two more months, okay? I can give you two more months to do what you're doing, to try find a cure, but after that…I need to go home. I need to spend time with Joanna. You understand, don't you?"

Jim couldn't hold back the tears any more. He couldn't even speak. He just nodded.

Then Bones was holding him tight again, his hands warm on Jim's back. "Please don't cry, Jim." He begged. "I can't…it breaks by damn heart when you cry."

"I'm sorry." Jim whispered into his collar, furious with himself for being so weak. He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop. When Bones eventually let him go, his eyes were glassy, but dry.

"Don't be sorry." Bones said, squeezing his knee then nudging his attention back to the table. "Eat your pancakes."

Jim stared at them, his favorite comfort, something that reminded him of home and family, the first he'd ever had, and all because of Bones. How could he eat when all he wanted to do was scream at the world for taking away the best person Jim had ever known?

But he picked up his fork anyway.

Whatever Bones wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm so thrilled you are enjoying! Thank you so much for your thoughts and comments, even if this storyline is a mean, hurty one.

This chapter is pretty much all medical and I'm still not a doctor, which I guess makes me about as qualified to make up magic medical mumbojumbo as the next crazy sci-fi writer, but please, a little suspension of belief might be required!

This chapter is a return to my two favorite things: beating up Jim and poking McCoy and Spock in the feels!

* * *

"Doctor!" McCoy looked up from the patient he had just finished treating in time to see Lt. Sulu limp into sickbay, his arms braced around Uhura's waist. She was blinking slowly, blood seeping from a cut at her hairline.

"Bring her over here." McCoy ordered, moving to intercept them. "What the hell is happening down there? Lt. look at me, there we go." He held a finger up in front of Uhura's eyes and was relieved to see them focus, even if it was a slower reaction than he'd have liked.

"The whole building went down." Sulu said, already making to move back towards the exit now Uhura was safely delivered. "We're still not sure if it was a structural fault or something else, I've not had chance to check in with Ops."

McCoy nodded, scanning Uhura over. "How many more are we expecting?"

"There were three hundred people in the building when it went down." Sulu said. "I'd guess maybe half were evacuated safely. Ground forces are triaging on site. They're sending crew and the diplomats up to us and the rest are going to the city hospital." That wasn't really an answer but McCoy nodded anyway. Whatever came they would deal with it. "Commander Finney things there could be up to thirty more we've yet to recover."

"He's in charge then?" MCoy asked, gently easing Uhura down on the bed. "Careful now." He soothed. "I'm gonna give you a mild painkiller but I can't give you anything stronger until I get your scan processed."

"I'm fine." Uhura frowned, slowly coming out of her injured daze.

"How about we let the guy with the M.D be the judge of that?" He said with a half smile. Uhura wasn't usually one of the people he needed to growl into submission. She was eminently sensible and knew when she needed to seek medical advice, which made her one of the few senior members of crew McCoy hadn't been forced to sedate over the last year.

"Finney's running things, yes." Sulu agreed. "We…there's no sign of the Captain or Commander Spock. We know they're alive, but we can't get to them."

McCoy said nothing. This wasn't the first time he'd had to push aside his worries for his friends in order to do his job and it wouldn't be the last. The crew knew what they were doing, and Jim was a hell of a lot harder to kill than he should have been, Spock too. "Keep me updated." He told Sulu, who snapped his head in agreement then vanished to rejoin the rescue efforts.

McCoy turned his attention completely on Uhura. "How bad's the pain?" He asked her.

"Five? Maybe?" She said, trying to sit up. "I should help them."

"Now isn't the time to pull a Jim on me, Lieutenant." McCoy said, sticking to rank to reminder her that yes, he could make that an order if he wanted to, then switching to something more gentle and using her name when she started to get agitated. "Come on, Nyota, I need you to cooperate with me here."

She reluctantly nodded. McCoy checked his scans. "Okay, you've got a pretty severe concussion so I want you to stay here for obs, understand? I'm gonna get Christine over here to clean you up and get you something to drink and we're gonna keep an eye on those brain scans."

"We don't have the bed space." She protested.

"You have a head injury." McCoy said gently. There was no point being harsh with her, she was genuinely confused, disorientated and in pain. He didn't even bully Jim when he was concussed. "You're staying here for twenty four hours and then maybe we'll see about releasing you to your quarters, okay?"

"Okay." She said meekly, settling back. McCoy squeezed her arm reassuringly and called Christine over from where she was directing two junior nurses. "Head injury in bed eleven, positive reactions but she's showing some signs of distress and confusion. Clean her up, keep an eye on her?"

"Yes Doctor." Christine responded to the orders automatically, her expression and her posture not changing when she caught sight of Uhura, despite their closeness. Everyone knew everyone on this ship. One injury wasn't any less painful to witness than any other.

McCoy moved on as a young Ensign was carried into sickbay. He recognized him as one of the crew Jim had hand picked for his personal security team. The kid had only been on the job a few months, the youngest in the group and McCoy remembered the way he'd practically levitated when Jim had announced his selection. He was Chekov's age and was fairly convinced Jim Kirk had hung the stars in the sky.

One of the planet's paramedics was with him and his condition was serious. McCoy assimilated the information that was fired at him and made the call to treat him personally. "Bay C." He ordered. "Nurse Jin, get prepped, M'benga, you've got the floor." He glanced over at the kid, blood turning his red shirt almost black. He'd flatlined before they even got him into surgery and despite McCoy's best efforts, they couldn't revive him.

He didn't have time to mourn. That would come later. Another five patients were already being assessed for surgery and the next six hours passed in moments as he moved between one, then another. They didn't lose anyone else, but it was close, too close.

He was disinfecting after admitting another young Ensign to recovery when he finally was able to return to the main floor. It was no less busy, but somehow less manic now there wasn't a steady stream of patients coming in needing treatment.

"No one else?" he asked Christine, who was doing her rounds.

"They're saying that pretty much everyone they are finding now are already dead. The damage was the worst at the main citadel."

"They know what caused it yet?"

"Earthquake by the sound of it. We'll know more soon I suppose." Christine said, then paused, her expression troubled. "They haven't found the Captain or the Commander, yet."

"Maybe I should head down there, see if they need extra pairs of hands."

"Doctor M'benga is in surgery with Ensign Henderoff." Christine told him. "We need you here. They'll be okay."

It pained him, but McCoy nodded reluctantly. "They better be. They die before I do and there'll be hell to pay." He tried to make the joke but it fell flat on its face and her expression didn't shift beyond pale concern.

Busying himself, McCoy worked his way around the ward, checking each patient carefully and speaking quietly with those who were awake. By the time he reached Uhura he'd seen more people he cared about hurting and wounded than he'd ever care to do again. "How are you feeling?" He asked her.

"Pissed." Uhura said, her voice soft despite her words. "Where are they?" She was as worried as he was and it was somehow calming to have to find the words to reassure her. He'd always been that way, better with other people's emotions than his own.

"They'll be fine." He promised her. "You know those two."

"God, I'm not gonna cry." She sniffed, rubbing her eyes angrily.

"It's the concussion." He reassured her warmly. "It's perfectly normal, don't you worry."

"Doctor!" In traditional fashion, neither Jim or Spock would enter sickbay without some kind of fanfare, and this was no exception. Spock was pretty much the only thing holding Jim upright but they were both bleeding badly, green and red blood mingling across their uniforms.

McCoy was just relieved to see them alive. Alive he could work with. Alive, and he could fix them.

They'd come in with a small entourage but Spock wasn't letting anyone touch Jim and Jim had clearly checked out entirely. He was awake but coughing up blood and McCoy suddenly had the horrible choice of performing triage on his two best friends.

Spock cut across his thought pattern before he could decide. "My injuries are severe but not life threatening. See to Jim."

McCoy knew better than to trust him on this, Spock was as bad as Jim when it came to brushing aside his injuries, and he had that snooty Vulcan superiority to back it. But a once over with the scanner and McCoy could only concede he was right. "Bay B," he ordered, helping Spock take Jim's weight as his arm and shoulder were both bleeding badly. "Chapel, prep up. Jin, take a preliminary at Spock here. You make sure he's M'benga's first priority when he's done and if he starts to deteriorate you come tell me."

"Yes Doctor." McCoy didn't feel badly about pulling Christine into what could potentially be another long surgery. Thanks to advancements in medicine, the need for several surgeons was often reserved for the very delicate operations and on starships they were used to making do. Nurses like Christine were vastly overqualified for the jobs that they held and often assisted in cases like this, even more so when they were in crisis mode.

By the time they had Jim on the bed in the bay, McCoy was already prepped and ready to go. He put one hand on the side of Jim's face and tried to draw his attention. "Jim, I gotta put you under. You're gonna be fine, I'm right here." He said, bringing up Jim's data into the computer, which automatically calibrated everything from the plasma and blood transfusion they would need to anesthesia, analgesics and antibiotics. He would wait until Jim was under before triggering the stasis field.

There was no recognition in Jim's eyes, and though his initial scans didn't show any head injury, the blood loss alone was enough to leave him confused. McCoy had dealt with this before, and he wasn't worried.

The damage Jim needed repairing was severe but McCoy knew he could fix it. More than that, it was times like this when Jim's synthetic blood was most useful. There were numerous times when he should have died from injuries long before McCoy got to him, and this looked like one of them. He'd performed major surgery on Jim both before and after the transfusion and he marveled at the differences. Jim healed twice as fast and could endure far more grievous hurts than any other human McCoy had treated.

All he had to do was repair the damage, and Jim's own body would take care of the rest of it.

Jim was out and McCoy was moving on instinct, barking out instructions to Christine in a tone she wouldn't even notice and every thought he has was focused entirely on fixing the damage under his hands.

Internal bleeding was a bitch and this was no different. He detached his mind from the fact that this was Jim whose guts he was wrist deep in and carried on working.

It took nearly two hours, but he was making progress. He'd found the bleed and stopped it, cleaned up the damage in the surrounding areas and was moving to the secondary trauma site. Jim's twelfth rib on his left side had shattered and McCoy had made the decision to remove it entirely instead of repairing the bone.

He was removing the last piece with a handheld laser when his fingers went numb.

Suddenly the laser slipped, and Jim was bleeding again, worse than before.

"What happened?" Christine shouted, already doing her part to try staunch the flow of blood.

"I can't feel my hands." McCoy said in shock.

He was a surgeon for christsake. His hands were the most important tool he had. He stared at them in horror, numb, tingling sensations starting in his wrists and curling down to the tips of fingers that didn't feel like his own.

Christine hit an alarm with her elbow and a moment later M'benga tore into the room, still prepped from his last patient.

"You need to take over from McCoy." She barked. "We've got this, Leonard. It's okay." She told him, most of her attention on Jim.

M'benga was a good surgeon. A good doctor. He took one look at Jim and he was in action, doing all the things McCoy would have done if he'd just had control over his own damn hands.

He backed away in horror, unable to look at the body on the table, the one whose blood now covered his arms and chest. His best friend, who McCoy had always been able to fix, who he'd just sliced open like a goddamn butcher.

Suddenly he couldn't breathe. He stumbled out of the room and into the main sickbay, the whole world spinning before his eyes. His office. He needed to be in his office. He couldn't do this here. It would scare people, people who were _already_ scared and in pain. He wouldn't do that to them.

Strong hands were suddenly braced on his shoulders and he was all but dragged into his office and forced to take a seat.

Somehow, without even realizing it, everything had become terrifyingly real. He was dying, and this, the numbness in his hands, it was only going to get worse.

He was useless. A surgeon who couldn't operate without nearly killing his patient. What good was he to anyone?

He'd be no help to his friends, friends who got themselves into scrapes like this all the damn time and who needed him at his best.

His career was over and his life…

He didn't want to die.

"Doctor." Spock said, trying to draw his attention. "Leonard. Listen to my voice. Focus on me."

Spock was injured when he came in. M'benga was supposed to be seeing to him, but now he had to pick up McCoy's slack, which meant for all he knew Spock could still need attention. He could do that. He _had_ to do that.

He looked up, focused. Spock's arm was in a temporary bandage, the bleeding under control and safe for now. There was another bandaged curled around his head, ruining his perfect hair and somehow managing to make him look a whole lot more human. "You okay?" McCoy choked.

"I am sufficient." Spock said. "What happened? Is Jim…" he trailed off, worry in his eyes. How the hell anyone thought Spock didn't feel was beyond McCoy. Just look in those damn human eyes of his.

"They're looking after him." McCoy said softly. "I…I can't feel my hands, Spock."

Spock's expression shifted in alarm and he wrapped his own hands over McCoy's, slipping into the half trance like state he went into when trying to assess whether something was physical or psychological. He opened his eyes a moment later. "I believe it is temporary."

McCoy nodded bleakly. "Probably, but it's gonna keep happening. I should resign my commission. I'm a liability to my patients."

"Please do not give up hope." Spock implored him. "I believe we are close."

McCoy shook his head. "I can't risk it, Spock. I nearly killed Jim just now."

"I understand that, Leonard but I am asking you, no, begging you…give us more time. I believe we are on the edge of a breakthrough."

"You weren't this morning." McCoy muttered, recalling Jim's hollow, tired expression as they'd shared breakfast and Spock's silent self reproach.

"It is a hypothesis I will admit has only recently occurred to me." Spock confided, turning his hand over so that McCoy could see the dried bloodstains still marring his skin. Someone should have cleaned him up by now, but both Jim's red blood and Spock's green were dull on Spock's hands. Spock gently touched the red stains, smearing one splatter across the green. Then he paused, and rubbed his nails harshly over the newly formed scab on his knuckles. Green blood bloomed fresh, and he touched it against the wet red blood staining McCoy's shirt. McCoy watched in surprise as the red blood slowly engulfed the green, trying to absorb it until the sheer volume of ratio overpowered it and forced it into dormancy.

"I believe we have been looking at this the wrong way around." Spock proposed. "We have been viewing Jim's blood as a cure that we needed to use to essentially calibrate to you but I believe we need to do the opposite first. Whatever it is that makes Khan's blood, now Jim's blood…it behaves like a virus and it is _adaptable_, and if we can adapt it to your unique condition, I believe we have a chance to teaching it how to beat the xenopolycythemia."

McCoy stared at him hard. Jim would be pissed at the idea of his blood being some kind of parasitic virus, but there was an element, however small, of logic to Spock's words. "How do you propose to do that?" He asked.

"I do not yet know." Spock admitted. "As I said, it is a relatively recent hypothesis and one I have not yet hand the chance to experiment with. I am uncertain how it would be best utilized if it were proven accurate. I am not a doctor, but perhaps you could be of assistance? You might not be physically capable of carrying out your duties, but you remain the foremost mind in your field and your condition cannot rob you of that."

McCoy swallowed. "Let's get you cleaned up." He said softly. "I need to check on Jim."

They stood, and Spock squeezed his shoulder, much the way Jim so frequently did. "It will be well, Leonard. We will fix this."


	8. Chapter 8

Jim came to with the slow, lethargic sluggishness that indicated he'd been hit with a hefty dose of McCoy's most potent anesthetic. He blinked, lightheaded and weak, knowing immediately that he was in his usual bed in one of the small, private rooms in sickbay.

The lights were dim and Jim drifted off almost immediately, knowing that there was something he should be worried about, but not quite managing to remember what.

It felt like only seconds later that he jerked away again, cold with sweat and shaking with exertion. The weakness was not as pronounced and his head felt clearer, so he knew it must have been some time since he was last conscious.

"Easy Jim." He reacted on instinct as Bones's face blinked blurrily into view, so familiar now that his body relaxed on instinct. He equated Bones and sickbay and the slightly muted edge to his senses as the aftermath, as safety. If he was here then the worst was over and Bones would take care of the rest.

"Hey." He croaked, his throat sore and dry. That was Bones's cue to pass him a cup with a straw to drink from and he did so greedily before slumping back in exhaustion. From there he could see Spock, the light from his PADD reflected on his face. "You okay?"

Spock was bandaged up and paler than usual but he was upright and Bones was letting him work, so he couldn't have been as badly hurt as Jim feared he was.

"I am well, Jim. How do you feel?"

"Like a building fell on me." Jim said dryly, remembering the unexpected shock of the ground shaking apart beneath them. He dimly recalled trying to protect Spock from a falling archway, but he also remembered seeing the bright green of his XO's blood spilling across his arm. Beyond that, nothing certain. Small snapshots of colors and sounds. "What happened?"

"There was an earthquake." Spock said, confirming Jim's suspicions. There had been a pretty bad one while they were at the Academy and that had been the first and only experience Jim had with the phenomenon. He'd not been all that keen to repeat the experience and nothing had changed there.

"Bad?" Jim frowned, studying the two serious faces. Bones was a hell of a lot quieter than usual, which worried Jim immensely.

"Not good." Spock hedged.

Jim swallowed. He knew that look. That look meant that people had died, _his_ people, and he didn't know how to tell Jim the extent of it. If they were on the bridge, perhaps Spock would have slipped back into formalities, able to tell his Captain while filling his duties as First Officer. In sickbay they were Spock and Jim, and Spock was never very good at giving Jim bad news. "How many?"

"Four fatalities." Spock said softly. "Ensigns Jones, Iu and Tregarth, and Lieutenant York. The rest of the away team suffered severe yet treatable injuries and all show high indications of recovery. In total there were seventy five fatalities and one hundred and sixty eight wounded."

Jim closed his eyes miserably as the names washed over him. Tregarth had a husband and two kids back home, Iu recently divorced and embracing singleton with a zeal Jim had been honestly impressed by and York a recent transfer to serve alongside her husband. Jones was only nineteen. Jim had picked him out personally for a spot in his personal security team. Jim chose them and he trained them. They were the best, they were elite – they had to be. Jones was the youngest he'd ever recruited but the kid had been _good. _And he'd died in a fucking earthquake.

"I'm sorry, Jim." McCoy said softly, following Jim's thoughts into the dark places they dwelled.

Jim shook his head. There would be a time for him to deal with his grief later. "And the injured?"

"You're the worst case we had to handle." McCoy said. "You were in surgery six hours. They only checked you out this morning."

"They?" Jim frowned.

Bones wouldn't meet his eye. "I relieved myself of duty. I…" He swallowed, looking utterly miserable, then met Jim's gaze firmly. "I was operating on you when I experienced a period of acute numbness in my hands. I slipped and I nearly killed you."

"But you didn't." Jim said absently, his heart pounding. If Bones was showing symptoms then they had even less time. He fumbled for the edges of the sheets and threw them back awkwardly.

"Whoa, where do you think you're going?" Bones said, grabbing his arm and pinning it to the bed.

"Where do you think I'm going?" Jim said forcefully, putting everything he had into yanking his arm from Bones's grip.

"You're not going to that damn lab." Bones growled at him. "You just woke up from major surgery damnit."

"I'm fine." Jim said, swinging his legs around.

"Okay, sure. You stand on your own two feet and manage not to fall on your ass then I'll sign off on your release." Bones crossed his arms over his chest and met Jim glare for glare.

Challenge accepted. Jim placed his bare feet on the cold floor and willed his body to cooperate. Now was not the time to be weak. Now was not the time to give in.

He stood. He wobbled, knees trembling and threatening to give way…but he stood and glared at Bones defiantly. Bones's shoulders deflated and Jim felt the stirrings of victory…right up until McCoy stepped into his space and physically dumped him back into the bed. "You said you'd sign me out!" Jim accused furiously.

"I lied!" McCoy yelled back. "What part of our five year history makes you think I'd let you pull a fool ass stunt like that you moronic jackass?"

"The part where you told me you have a terminal fucking illness and are starting to show symptoms!" Jim snapped.

"If I may-" Spock attempted to cut in but both Jim and McCoy ignored him. Jim didn't think he'd ever fought with anyone as much as he did with McCoy – maybe Spock, he drove Jim fucking batshit as well some times – and he didn't really care that he'd just got out of surgery. If McCoy wanted him to stop trying to save his life then he'd have to do it over Jim's dead body as far as he was concerned.

"I don't care if the goddamn world is ending! You're keeping your stubborn ass in that bed, Jim so help me-" McCoy threatened.

"It is ending!" Jim screamed back. "Why can't you fucking see that?"

Bones fell silent in shock and Jim suddenly groaned in pain, his body seriously pissed with how he was treating it. Bones braced his shoulders as he rode out the tremors of a full body muscle spasm. Jim clenched his jaw to hold back a moan of pain, focusing instead on Bones's voice, just like they always did.

"Stubborn bastard." Bones said, his voice gruff with affection and Jim managed a shaky smile when he was done grimacing in pain.

"Can we not fight? Or at least wait until I can last more than thirty second?"

Bones snorted. "Why do you think I wait until you're heavily sedated to argue with you, kid? You just don't know when to quit."

"Do so." Jim moaned. "Ow."

"Are you both done behaving like children?" Spock asked archly, his loftiest and most irritated Vulcan expression fixed on them both.

"Bones started it." Jim said quickly, knowing it would annoy the both of them. Hey, he was invalided out of action, a man needed to take what options he had.

"Bones'll finish it as well you obnoxious little shit." Bones growled, his hands still warm on Jim's shoulders before they moved to check his pulse, mindless of the fact that the biobed told him everything he could possibly want to know about Jim's body, and probably a great deal more.

"Bones should stop referring –"

"I believe I have found a solution to the doctor's condition." Spock cut over them both loudly.

Jim froze, his mouth open in surprise. He quickly re-gathered his wits and rounded on his First Officer. "Why the hell didn't you open with that?"

"I attempted to." Spock said irritably. "You were somewhat preoccupied with insulting one another."

"We always insult one another. We can do that anytime!" Jim protested. "What have you found?"

"You." Spock said simply.

"Huh?"

"Now Spock, we haven't proven anything." Bones said cautiously.

"You knew about this?" Jim demanded. "And you didn't say anything?"

Bones rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Jim. You were bleeding all over my sickbay at the time."

"I'm sorry," Jim said bitchily, "a building got dropped on my head."

"Does he need to be conscious for this?" Bones asked Spock. "He's a goddamn nightmare when he's on these kind of drugs."

"What did you find?" Jim ignored him and scowled at Spock.

"You." Spock repeated.

"You're gonna have to give me more than that, Spock, I'm seeing dancing pink elephants right now. Full disclosure and use small words."

"Disclosure is not a…right." Spock quickly dropped his intended sentence when fixed under Jim's ire. He'd been drugged, cut open, zapped up and sedated enough times in their company that you'd have thought one of them would have remembered how epically short his temper was in the hours following. "I believe that instead of using your blood to synthesis a cure for Leonard's illness we need to first find a way to trigger the same condition in your blood for it to adapt itself. Now I do not believe that Leonard would survive a direct transfusion of your blood."

"I did." Jim frowned.

"Technically not. You were dead when we transfused you." McCoy pointed out. "Your body didn't try and fight the process because it was not functioning. When we brought you out of cryostasis and revived you it went crazy trying to fight off what it saw as a parasitic invasion, but by that point Khan's blood had already assimilated itself in your tissues, your vital organs, everything. That's why you were so damn sick after."

"But you don't think that will work with you because your body would try and fight if off from the get go." Jim nodded slowly.

"The only other person who we know was exposed to Khan's blood was Lucille Harewood, and she died twenty four hours later." McCoy said grimly.

"So how is convincing my body it has xenopolycythemia going to make any difference? We still wouldn't be able to transfuse you with my blood."

"We would not." Spock agreed. "But think of it more as a vaccine. Your blood will adapt to the data, this much I am certain of. It is the second stage of my hypothesis that requires further experimentation."

"And that is."

"We find a way to use you as a filtration system, as you were, for Leonard's blood without yours completely overwhelming his."

"So what, like a human dialysis system? Would that work?" Jim asked, frowning.

"I do not know." Spock admitted. "As I said, it is a new theory and it is untested. We would need to determine if it were possible and how best to go about the process.."

"Safely." McCoy added. "There's a hell of a lot of risk playing around with this."

"Bones, in the last year I've been shot, stabbed, poisoned, thrown off a cliff and squashed under a building. I've donated a couple of thousand pints of blood, poked, prodded and experimented on myself, and survived a rugby match against Scotty and the lunatics down in Engineering. And I'm still here to brighten your day and keep you from getting boring in your old age. I don't care what the risk, I don't care what the cost. We're doing this so either shut up and help or leave the good drugs on the table and fuck off."

Bones blinked at him, silent for a moment, a good thing as Jim had exhausted himself with that little rant.

"That was beautiful, Jim." McCoy said. "Truly. I'm touched. Here." He pressed his hand to his heart. "Such eloquence and –"

"Oh fuck off." Jim moaned, making McCoy laugh. "Spock, go get some rest and take this comedian with you."

"Yes Captain." Spock stood. "Your plans?"

"Sleep. Pudding. Sleep. I'll meet you in the lab tomorrow."

"You'll keep your ass in that bed." McCoy threatened.

"Then I'll have the bed moved to the lab." Jim said sweetly. "Now get lost."

"You can't kick me out of my own sickbay, Jim." McCoy was back to glaring at him.

"Sure I can. You relieved yourself of duty, remember?"

"Why do I ever worry about saving his sorry ass?" Bones asked Spock in frustration.

"It is most perplexing." Spock agreed. "However the Captain is correct. You should take some rest."

"You too Spock." Jim warned. "Don't think I don't know that sneaky Vulcan sneakiness you're brewing."

"Sneaky Vulcan sneakiness?" Spock queried.

"I'm drugged." Jim protested. "You can comment about my vocab another time."

Spock shot him his best bitchy frown and made to follow Bones, who had no doubt gone off to order Chapel to drug his applesauce or something equally as vindictive.

"Hey Spock?" Jim called after him.

"Yes Captain?"

"Good work." Jim said softly.

Spock's expression relaxed. "We will see this done, Jim. Have no fear."

Jim smiled at Spock's departing back. By the time the door slid closed, he was asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Pretty sure I am stretching the bounds of reasonable science way, _way_ too far but I had great fun doing so! Still not a doctor. Still making this all up! I did however pinch a line from TOS because it sounds much more sciency than anything I come up with!

Watch out for the ending of this chapter, cliffy ahead!

* * *

"Well this is cozy." McCoy glanced across his shoulder to meet Jim's amused grin. He sighed.

"I think this is a bad idea."

"So you've said." Jim responded brightly – too brightly. "Thirty four times. Since breakfast. _I think this is a bad idea, I have a bad feeling about this, this isn't going to work._ Are you paying that little black cloud of yours overtime for all this extra doom and gloom?"

McCoy scowled at him. It wasn't _that_ often. It can't have been.

And if it was, it only served to emphasize how much of a bad idea he _did_ think this was.

"You could die." McCoy pointed out, not that it would make the slightest difference to Jim, who'd been far too intimate with the concept of death from the moment of his birth.

"So could you." Jim pointed out reasonably. He was far less cranky now he was fully off the anesthetics, a relief really. McCoy was irritable enough for all three of them and it never sat well with anyone when bright, bubbly, cheerful Jim was in those kind of moods.

"I'm already dying." McCoy pointed out dryly.

"And the odds of me living to see thirty if you do are pretty shitty."

"Zero point six three, Captain." Spock put in from behind his console.

"Really? Huh?" Jim frowned. "That's not as bad as I expected."

"Jim-" McCoy growled, knowing exactly what Jim was doing.

Jim brazenly carried on chattering. "The point is you should probably stop worrying."

"The Captain is right." M'benga's voice was a soothing branch of sanity that McCoy grabbed on to firmly. "The more relaxed you are the less stress it will cause the both of you."

"I'm strapped to a raving lunatic and about to be a lab rat in a Vulcan's science project." McCoy grumbled. "You relax."

"I'm not raving." Jim protested. "I'm providing moral encouragement."

"I swear to god, Jim, if you don't shut up I will strangle you."

"Good luck with that." Jim smirked, lifting his left arm and dragging McCoy's right with it. Christine had strapped them together at the wrist and the elbow. A safety precaution, she said, in case either of them had an adverse reaction to the treatment. It was that or a stasis field and McCoy had vetoed that one. If Jim were going to be unconscious, maybe, but he'd showed a remarkable resistance to the drugs in tests and had never fully gone under. McCoy wasn't about to traumatize his friend unnecessarily.

That said he wasn't too keen on the idea of being attached to Jim for a prolonged period of time, if only because Jim would, eventually, get bored of just laying there and start looking for ways to amuse himself.

"Spock will do it for me, won't you Spock?" McCoy shot back at Jim, wiping the smirk off his face.

"No he wouldn't." Jim protested.

"Yes," Spock answered, "he would."

"Well that's nice." Jim huffed.

"Poor baby." Christine snorted. "Are they picking on you?" She stopped beside Jim and disinfected the crook of his right elbow.

"Yes." Jim pouted. "Bones is being mean."

"I'm always mean." McCoy sighed in exasperation. "For some reason you respond better to threats of bodily harm than polite requests. I that the D89?" He said suddenly, pausing Christine as she slid the needle into Jim's arm and tightened the clamp on the clear tubing attached.

"Yes Doctor." She said mildly. They'd already been over every second of the procedure twice, but McCoy couldn't help the control freak inside him from rearing up. He wasn't used to being on this side of the equation and he found it deeply unsettling.

"Bones, let her do her job." Jim said softly, his voice low and only for McCoy.

He forced himself to relax. "Sorry, carry on."

"It's okay." Christine smiled at him. "You can ask whatever you like but you _do_ already know the answer."

That was true. He had technically designed the process they were about to use. He had Spock had worked together for a fortnight, testing Spock's hypothesis. It had taken another two weeks to actually put this together, and by that point McCoy's symptoms were showing more frequently than not. The numbness wasn't just localized to his hands, but other parts of his body as well.

It was scary…terrifying, actually, but there had been a glimmer of hope in Spock's work that had been enough for him to focus on and he managed to do what he'd been doing ever since he'd first self-diagnosed. He'd pushed on. He'd ignored his own fear, compartmentalizing ruthlessly until a time when he'd be able to sit down and sort through everything without it impacting the lives of everyone around him.

That time would come soon. Either if this worked, and the boxes became redundant, or if it didn't…. and he had to accept the inevitable.

He wasn't really sure how he'd manage to be honest. Knowing Jim for as long as he had, the word _inevitable_ didn't really have the same meaning it once did. He'd allowed himself to believe that they could do the impossible and here they were, ready to try something so utterly insane, so barbarically medieval that he half hated himself for getting swept up in Jim's damned no-win mentality all over again.

He lost himself in his thoughts, missing the slide of a needle into his own arm and only coming back when he heard M'benga say, "Are you ready, Captain?"

"Do it." Jim said firmly.

Within a matter of moments, the temperature next to McCoy plummeted. He didn't feel it to the point of being uncomfortable, but then he was in thermals beneath his scrubs, while Jim wore just thin sickbay pajamas.

"You need to be honest with us, remember?" M'benga told Jim sternly. "None of this tough-guy stoicism. You keeping quiet about something could seriously affect McCoy's condition." That was a little harsh, but it was a guaranteed way to ensure Jim did as he was told, and he nodded, wide eyed and serious. "Good. How are you feeling?"

McCoy peered over to see the second IV that was inserted into the back of Jim's hand. The steady dose he was being administered would hit hard and fast and almost on cue, Jim shivered. "Cold."

"Okay. That's good, you're doing great. Leonard, how are you?"

"I'm fine." McCoy said absently, his eyes fixed on Jim.

"How's it looking, Spock?" Jim asked, rolling his head to look over at Spock's station.

"Your core temperature is declining as predicted." Spock announced. "Once it reaches 29.5 degrees we will proceed with the transfusion."

Jim nodded stiffly then shot McCoy a wry grin. "I vote we go some place with a beach next shore leave."

"You okay?" McCoy asked worriedly. This was why he hated this plan despite his compliance. Do no harm, that was his first and most definite principle in life, and here he was, willingly allowing a patient with an immune system as weird and unpredictable as Jim's to induce a severe state of hypothermia purely to use him as a external kidney.

"I'm fine, Bones." Jim promised him, twisting his fingers so he could squeeze McCoy's reassuringly. "See?"

"I'm sorry it had to come to this." He said.

"I'm not."

"You're an idiot."

"So I've been told." Jim smiled. "It'll be fine Bones, trust me."

"I do. God help me." McCoy said, squeezing back when Jim suddenly let out a full body shudder.

"Beach." Jim said with gritted teeth as the tremors set in. "Sunshine, sand and I want a cocktail with one of those sparkly umbrellas."

"Thought you said we were gonna be nearing Risa soon?" McCoy encouraged him to keep talking and take his mind off the slow creeping pain as the coldness set in.

"Hmm. Man, there are some badass beaches on Risa. Probably want to avoid taking Spock to Yenpog though." He giggled suddenly at whatever thought was in his symptoms were setting in fast and rapidly progressing.

"Oh yeah, why's that?" McCoy nudged him.

"Nudist beach." Jim snorted.

Over at his terminal Spock's eyebrow shot up and Jim continued to giggle to himself.

"Jim? What are you feeling?" M'benga asked, moving into his line of sight.

"Kinda floaty." Jim frowned. "That's normal, right?"

"It's to be expected, yes. Are you in any pain?" He looked over at Spock who shook his head.

"Tingly." Jim responded.

"It's going to get worse." McCoy told him.

"I've had hypothermia before Bones, I know what it feels like." Jim reassured him. Only Jim could think that _was_ a reassurance.

"When was that?" McCoy asked, still trying to keep his attention.

"Risa, actually." Jim rolled his eyes. "Tropical planet my ass. Still gets fucking cold in winter."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen. No, fourteen. First month there." Jim said, frowning. "I think. I don't remember." He looked slightly agitated until McCoy squeezed his fingers again.

"You're doing fine." He promised, guilt stabbing him in the gut as Jim settled back trustingly.

"Okay, now it hurts." He said, his eyes tightening with pain.

"Thirty point one degrees." Spock announced. "You are doing well, Jim."

"Awesome, give me all the fucking candy." Jim gritted his teeth but they were chattering so loudly he quickly stopped. McCoy could feel the coldness of his skin where their arms pressed together.

"Twenty nine point eight." Spock announced.

Jim had stopped shivering and his fingers went slack in McCoy's. He wasn't unconscious but he wasn't far off, he'd curled against McCoy, seeking warmth unconsciously, and the pallor of his skin had shifted from winter pale to faintly blue.

McCoy squeezed his hand tightly.

He knew it was imperative to the process that Jim's body enter the dangerous state of severe hypothermia – once his body temperature dropped below thirty degrees his cellular metabolic process would shut down, his pulse and respiration rates plummeted and the damage his blood would be able to do to McCoy's system greatly limited.

"Jim?" M'benga questioned. "Jim, can you hear me?"

He tapped Jim firmly on the cheek and Jim's eyes rolled senselessly. "Hmm."

"Are you with us?"

"Hmm."

"He's holding steady." Christine said, her eyes on Jim's vitals, freeing up M'benga to move to McCoy's side.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." McCoy nodded. "Look, thank you. Even if it doesn't work. Just…thanks."

"It'll work." M'benga said kindly. "Have a little faith."

Jim shifted next to him, trying to get warmer. It went against every instinct McCoy had not to bundle him up in a hypoblanket and force feed him hot soup. He'd do that later, if this worked. Get Spock to sit on him for good measure.

M'benga opened the clamp that kept the IV in McCoy's arm sealed and he watched with morbid fascination as his blood sped along the clear tubing. He traced it's path until it entered on of the two ports at Jim's end. Thirty seconds later, Christine unclasped the clamp on the second line and the blood slowly drained out of Jim's arm and crawled slowly back to McCoy.

When it first hit, it felt like someone had injected ice into his veins. Jim was _so cold_ and the chill spread down his arm and across his chest.

"Beach." McCoy said, gruff with discomfort. "Desert more like."

"How do you feel?" M'benga asked.

"Like I've taken a bath in ice cubes." McCoy grunted. "How's Jim?"

"He's stable." Christine assured him. "Mr Spock, you ready for Leonard's blood counts?"

"At your leisure, Nurse Chapel."

Christine winked at him. "You're doing great." How many times had he heard that today? First thing he was doing when this was done was banning those damn words from his sickbay. "Sending you them now, Mr Spock."

"Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"You okay kid?"

""M'fine." Jim couldn't even open his eyes. "S'it workin'?"

"Don't know yet, you impatient brat." McCoy said fondly, resting his cheek against Jim's hair.

"Actually we do." Spock spoke up. "Your hemoglobin levels are rising."

"S'good, right?" Jim asked.

"Yeah." McCoy whispered, not daring to hope that maybe this _would_ work. "Yeah that's good."

"Told ya." Jim sighed tiredly. McCoy sympathized, suddenly feeling exhausted. He felt himself relax against Jim as the numbness in his limbs stopped being that strange, alien tingling and took on the chilling coldness of the blood being pumped into his system.

He leaned back and he closed his eyes as Christine suddenly let out a cheer of joy, one M'benga joined after a moment. "Leonard, your hemoglobin levels are back to normal, which indicates that the flow of oxygen to each cell of your body is back up to its abundantly energetic level."

"Win." Jim slurred, his eyes still closed but a smile touched his lips.

"Bring him out of it." McCoy ordered, not wanting to keep Jim in that condition any longer than necessary.

"With pleasure." M'benga said brightly, already detatching them both from various cables.

McCoy found himself smiling. He closed his eyes again. And couldn't open them.

The coldness continued to spread, growing deeper and heavier until he felt like he was sinking into the bed. And then it just stopped. He felt warm, comfortable, relaxed in a way he'd not been all damn year.

"Leonard? Leonard!"

"What is happening?" Was that Spock? He sounded worried. Probably not Spock then…

"Bones?" Jim's weak slur almost dragged him back, but he fell short of opening his eyes and sank deeper into the darkness.

"Shit, shit!" He needed to tell Christine not to swear in front of patients. Not professional.

"I can't find a pulse!" A problem. Shy pulses weren't good.

"Cardiac rhythm's gone. Oxygen level's plummeting. Get him flat."

He didn't feel the hands that suddenly separated him from Jim and laid him out on the bed. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.

"Bones?"

"Spock, get him out of here."

"What's happening? Bones? Bones!"

"Jim, let them work."

"Code blue, defib on five, four-"

"Come on Leonard, don't do this now."

"Nothing."

"Again!"

"Bones!"

"Up the charge, sixteen to two."

"Jim, you have to let them-"

"No! I won't leave him Spock! Bones, come on Bones, please!"

"On three-"

"Up it again, come on you bastard."

"Again."

"Nothing."

"_Again!"_

"Nothing. He's gone. Oh my god…"

"Bones?"

"Call it."

"Christ. Jesus Christ. Okay. Patient's name is Leonard McCoy. Time of death thirteen-twenty-three, ships time. Doctor attending, Geoffrey M'benga."

"_Bones!"_


	10. Chapter 10

Hold the tribbles, people! They are just going to get put in a box for Blob to play with and if the little monster is half as energetic and rambunctious as it is now then you might well be sending them to an undignified death.

I know it was an uber cliffhanger, but look, see, next post! And early too! I am going for a scan after work and I very nearly decided to post it later tonight but I was slightly afraid I wouldn't have a house to come home to if I did!

Thank you as always for a wonderful ride! I hope you've had fun with this story and see you at the next xx.

* * *

"Spock, get him out of here!" Spock had moved more on instinct than desire, responding to Chapel's barked order in a fractured sort of daze, one that broke as soon as he touched Jim's bare skin. He was so cold it physically pained Spock to touch him and the shock of it provided a physical jolt from the stunned fear he'd inhabited.

"What's happening?" Jim demanded, his eyes half lidded and bleary. He'd only just begun the process of warming up and the latent effects of the hypothermia were still very much in act. He was dazed and confused. Spock wished he had a similar excuse for his inability to understand what was happening here.

They'd succeeded. They'd saved Leonard. This….this wasn't what was supposed to happen.

Spock carefully pulled Jim off the bed and away, giving M'benga and Chapel the extra room to work on McCoy.

"Bones? Bones!"

"Jim, let them work." Spock attempted to soothe him in vain. He pulled Jim further away, all of his weight limp in Spock's arms and his bare feet dragging on the floor. Of course he wouldn't cooperate. It was in Jim to rebel, not yield.

Jim continued to struggle, trying to get back to McCoy who wasn't responding to the frantic attempts to resuscitate him. M'benga and Chapel worked with the fluid efficiency that was born of countless experience, but beneath that was the edge of manic urgency that only came when the life one was trying to save was so very dear to them all.

"Bones!"

"Jim, you have to let them-" Spock hushed him, trying to walk the fine balance of keeping Jim from interfering in his confused and panicked state, and injuring him in the process. There had never been a time when Jim had truly fought against him with all of his strength and will, and with the exception of that one, shameful time, Spock had never unleashed his full strength on Jim in return. Now though, weakened by the procedure as he was, Jim was _fighting_, hard and stubborn.

"No! I won't leave him, Spock!" Jim snarled. Spock's hands were wrapped around the bare skin of Jim's forearms, keeping them pinned against his chest. The unguarded contact gave him no protection from the violent barrage of Jim's emotions. He was psy-null – about as psychically sensitive as an ion blast to the face, as McCoy put it, but even if he could have shielded, Spock was certain he'd not have the wits to do it right then.

M'benga and Chapel continued to work furiously as Spock was utterly overcome, both with his own fear and that which Jim added.

Suddenly he could see his future ahead of him, a dark wasteland and the death of everything he knew and loved. He saw Leonard's death. He saw it break his daughter's heart and destroy his mother's health. He saw Jim, his eyes dead even before his body followed, reckless and broken and without McCoy to repair the damage, following his friend only a few months later. He saw himself, ripped apart by the loss of his brothers, drowning in an agony he knew only one cure for. But Kolinahr was just another kind of death for him really, one both feared and longed for. He turned his back on Nyota, on Starfleet and the stars themselves.

This was what it was to love.

And to lose.

"Time of death thirteen-twenty-three ships time. Doctor attending, Geoffrey M'benga."

Spock was pulled out of his trance by the words, caught by the sight of his friend, pale and still on the bed and the harried, exhausted faces of M'benga and Chapel. It seemed like only moments since Jim and Leonard had been bickering like usual. Seconds, no longer, but he knew it must be more. He felt it in the weakness trembling in Jim's limbs, in the numb ache where cold flesh met his own.

"Bones!"

He was back on that precipice, watching his mother fall. In the volcano, waiting for death. In Engineering, watching it steal his friend just as he understood what that word even meant.

Jim's agony was breathtaking. His own too raw to bare touch.

He could see the future ahead.

He would not stand for it.

"Do it again." He ordered M'benga, hauling Jim back to Leonard's side, mindless of his boneless weight.

"Spock-" There were tears on M'benga's face. He hardened his heart to them.

"Do it again." He growled, propping Jim against the bed and turning him so they were face to face. "Jim. Jim, look at me." He implored, his fingers hovering over the meld points on Jim's skin.

He saw the broken deadness slowly start to seep across Jim's blue eyes and shook him hard. "Jim! Help me find him."

Jim's eyes widened, full of tears and he nodded rapidly, his face turned trustingly into Spock's hand.

Spock didn't wait. He reached out and touched Leonard's meld points, his skin somehow warmer than Jim's despite everything.

He could be killing all three of them. He found he didn't care. If this didn't work, they were dead anyway.

* * *

McCoy's mind was a whirling vortex, death stealing away everything about him that they knew and love.

Spock was not thinking. He used nether finesse or care. He hurled himself after McCoy's retreating spirit, dragging Jim behind him.

The spark still remained, not yet relinquished to death. Spock saw it, he felt it, and he threw Jim towards it, _trusting_.

Jim was psy-null. McCoy was not, and as Jim's thoughts collided with the last of Leonard's consciousness, it did what Spock prayed it would and latched itself on to the floundering thoughts, sensing familiarity and love, and adhering to it tightly.

And with Jim clinging to McCoy, Spock dug his heels in and pulled.

It was a losing battle, fighting against the pull of the vortex, trying to escape the gravity of a black hole…

But they had done it before. They would do it again.

_So he pulled_.

* * *

McCoy sat up with a jolt, choking on oxygen as his lungs screamed back to life. The suddenness of his actions sent Jim and Spock crashing to the ground, their coordination and steadiness completely shot by the meld.

"Oh my god!" Chapel breathed, both she and M'benga surging forward to stabilize McCoy's condition.

Jim was unconscious against Spock's side, out cold from either the shock or the drugs still in his system. Spock no longer had skin contact with him, but he could feel the surge of his emotions anyway, jumbled and confused.

No more so than McCoy, whose thoughts were practically screaming in Spock's head.

That, he thought dimly, might be a slight problem.

But his consciousness fled before further concern could trouble him.

* * *

"I hate you all."

Spock knew that tone, even floating on the edge of consciousness. When Nyota sounded like that, he usually ended up stumbling awkwardly over an apology.

Sure enough, as his eyes opened her face was the first thing he saw, wan and worried, softer than the anger in her voice.

"Nyota?"

"Hey," she whispered, brushing his hand with her fingertips. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused." He admitted. "What happened?"

"You are a self sacrificing asshole, that's what happened." She said, glaring at him properly this time. "My god, Spock, you nearly died. You _all_ nearly died."

He followed her gaze and found Jim beside him and McCoy besides Jim. They were both sleeping peacefully and for a moment he contented himself with watching the steady rise and fall of fragile human breathing. They were alive. They were safe. It had worked.

"We did not." He said, still somewhat confused.

"No." She sighed. "You know, you three deserve each other. You're all as stubborn as hell. Not to mention selfish, reckless, idiotic, suicidal, insane-"

"Your opinions on my personage are not as flattering as they once were." Spock commented wryly.

"I can continue in Vulcan, if you like?" She simpered, much of her anger fading away.

"Please do not. I fear your linguistic fluency in my mother tongue might cause irreparable damage to my ego."

"I doubt it. You've been spending too long with Kirk." She said, smiling and taking his hand. Hers was the terribly human habit of expressing concern as anger. That had taken much adapting to.

"It's always my fault." Jim mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"It _is_ always your fault." Nyota agreed. "Even when it isn't."

"What did I do this time?" Jim yawned tiredly, not yet fully coherent. That followed, his eyes popping open as he lurched upright. "Bones!" He saw McCoy beside him and shook him roughly. "Bones! Bones, wake up!"

"For christsake Jimmy, let me sleep man!" McCoy moaned, turning to bury his face in the pillow beneath his head.

The potent rush of pure happiness that spiked through Spock's senses echoed Jim's exultant cheer. Spock reeled in surprise, unable to account for the foreign emotions in his head.

"You're alive!" Jim cheered, tugging on McCoy's arm like a particularly giddy child. "You're alive, you're alive!" His excessive joy dragged McCoy back to consciousness and the doctor stared at Spock with wide eyes as Jim practically crushed him in an enthusiastic embrace.

"I've missed something here, haven't I?" McCoy frowned at Spock, absently patting Jim on the shoulder.

"I am very pleased to see you awake, Doctor." Spock said honestly.

McCoy's eyes widened further. "Pleased?" He muttered. "I'm dead, aren't I? The hobgoblin's smiling at me and Jim's lost his goddamn mind. No other explanation." He was speaking more to himself than the rest of them.

"No, you asshole!" Jim beamed. "You're alive! How'd you feel? Any tingling? Tingling's bad, right? Or is it good? I can't remember but holy shit you're okay!" He held McCoy at arms length to get a good look at him, babbling away at high speed. Then a moment later he was releasing the doctor, turning where he sat and throwing his arms around Spock, who went stone still in shock. "You did it! You did it! Thank you, thank you…"

"Okay kid, you need to calm down before you give the hobgoblin a nervous breakdown." McCoy said, peeling Jim off Spock with his customary eyebrow raised.

Nyota was chuckling at the bedside, her smile hidden behind her hand as Jim shook his head violently. "No, no I'm totally calm!" he said with a manic energy that made Spock nervous and McCoy bewildered – Spock didn't need to see his face to know that, he could feel it. "You're okay! Spock's okay! I'm okay. No one is dying and we're all alive and fuck me, we should have a party or something."

"A party?" McCoy echoed cautiously.

"With cake." Jim nodded, flopping back against the bed. "Hey Uhura." He said absently.

"You're ridiculous." She told him fondly. "You all are."

"What did I do?" McCoy protested.

"Well you gave Chris and Geoff a heart attack with your Lazarus impression for a start." Nyota told him. "But you'll be pleased to know that there is no sign of the xenopolycythemia left in your system."

Spock felt McCoy's growing trepidation. So too it seemed did Jim, who sat up again, all levity pushed aside behind gentle concern. "Bones?"

"I died?" McCoy frowned. "I don't remember."

"Good." Jim said firmly, and Spock suddenly had a flash of bright lights and searing pain, of fear and determination and relief.

McCoy felt it too. "What the hell was that?" He demanded, looking at Spock accusingly.

"What was what?" Jim frowned, unaware of what was happening. He, unlike Spock and to some extent McCoy, had no control over his emotions at all.

"_That!_" McCoy growled. "What the hell did you do?" He asked Spock angrily.

"What I had to." Spock responded simply.

"What does that mean?" McCoy demanded.

Jim looked between them both, lost. "What's going on here?"

"You were dying. I took measures to see that it did not happen." Spock found himself reluctant to reveal just what measures they had been, but he could not understand why.

"Stop beating around the damn bush. What did you do?"

Spock met his gaze firmly. "I pulled you back."

"How? _What did you do_?" McCoy pushed. "I can feel you in my head. It is you, isn't it?"

"Technically it is both Jim and myself." Spock hedged. "Though we are not _in your head_ in the literal sense."

"Wait, I'm in Bones's head?" Jim cut in. "How am I in Bones's head?"

"I think the question should be _why_ are you in my head?" McCoy scowled at Jim. "You can't feel it?" Jim shook his head, eyes wide. A moment later he whimpered and clutched his forehead. "Shit," McCoy hissed, catching his elbow and supporting him. "I'm sorry."

"That was you?" Jim murmured.

McCoy didn't release his arm and turned back to Spock. "You created a telepathic link between us." He accused.

"It was unintentional." Spock admitted. "I can teach you to control it. With practice, we can force it into dormancy."

"That's not the point!" McCoy snapped. "I wasn't dying was I Spock? I was dead, and you could have killed yourself coming in after me and Christ, you dragged Jim into it as well! What were you thinking?"

"That I had no other choice." Spock responded icily, shaking off Nyota's hand and her worried glances between them.

"You should have let me go!" McCoy yelled.

"That was not an option."

"That was not-"

"Okay! Time out!" Jim said, forcing himself between the two of them. "Cool it! Look, Bones, Spock made the right call, okay? You not being dead? The single best outcome."

McCoy turned his glare on Jim. "And you're happy with two people just pitching up camp in your head?"

"It's not like you're random strangers is it?" Jim shrugged. "Maybe if it were anyone else, sure. But it's you and Spock and I trust you more than I trust myself most times. I mean, it's not ideal sure, but compared to the alternative?" He reached out and took Bones's shoulder in his hand. "Look at me, Bones. If this was the only way? You honestly mean to tell me you wish Spock had let you die?"

Leonard McCoy was a man of deep and complex emotion, and they had been locked up tightly for too long, afraid of being aired for so many reasons. In many ways the three of them were very much alike. They all hid their true feelings beneath masks, be they of logic, irritability or carefree charm. Without those masks, there was no hiding.

It was a freedom Spock had long craved, a price Jim considered low indeed for what it bought, but that brought with it great fear for McCoy, who kept his hurts close and quiet.

Eventually he shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. Spock scarcely noticed Nyota silently leave them to their privacy.

Jim's smile was gentle and warm. "It'll be okay." He promised, glancing over his shoulder and fixing Spock with the same look before touching his forehead to McCoy's. "You're alive and we're all together. Everything else we can deal with."

McCoy nodded against him. "Yeah. I'm…yeah. I'm sorry Spock."

"There is nothing for which you need to apologize." Spock reassured him. "If anything it is I who-"

"No. No, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm being an ungrateful bastard, I should be thanking you and-"

"Bones." Jim cut his rambling short. "Stop it. It's okay. You're allowed to be angry you know."

"That's my line." McCoy grumbled.

"It's a good line."

"Stole it."

"Sucks being on the other side, doesn't it?" Jim said fondly.

"Don't think this is going to make me go easy on you next time." McCoy huffed.

"Of course not." Jim rolled his eyes. "God forbid you pass up on the chance to - ow! Did you just insult me in my head?" He accused indignantly.

McCoy snorted and smirked over Jim's shoulder at Spock. "You know this _could_ actually be useful."

Spock raised a curious eyebrow. "How so?"

McCoy turned a wicked smile on Jim, who shuffled back towards Spock in alarm. "Well that's grossly unethical." He grumbled.

"I will teach you how to control it." Spock promised them, marveling as always how humans could bound so rapidly between such contrasting emotions, the sensation even more astounding now he had it in stereo.

"Bones…why do I want carrots?" Jim accused. "And salad and cottage cheese who the _hell eats cottage cheese?"_

"Very useful." McCoy nodded, ducking under the pillow Jim threw at his head.

"Why am I even glad you're alive again?" He huffed.

"Good question." McCoy smirked. "Especially since you're overdue your physical."

"Spock, teach me how to tell him to fuck off in my head." Jim demanded.

"A telepathic link is not intended to be your personal means of delivering childish insults to one another." Spock glared at them. "You do enough of that as it is."

"No I know." Jim brushed that aside. "But seriously, teach me. I can say it in Vulcan if that makes you feel better?"

"Vulcans do no tell one another to 'fuck off' Jim."

"Oh please, it's all in the subtext."

"What would you know about subtext?" McCoy demanded, spurring the argument ever onwards. There was something soothing about, something natural, comfortable, and so very nearly lost to them.

Spock found himself leaning back and letting the words wash over him. He pushed their consciousness to the edge of his own until they were simply a consistent buzz in the back of his mind, reassuring him that they were safe and well.

It was not ideal, but they had encountered worse. Spock would teach them and in time they would probably come to forget all about it. But Spock would not, and that buzz would ground him even when he floundered the most.

It was but a small price to pay, and one he did so gladly.


End file.
